What You Need
by dream.brother63
Summary: Ria Wilkins and her best friend Michel are "dating" for three weeks, just to make her sister and her ex-bf jealous. But anything can happen in three weeks, and the messy love tangle has no visible ends. review please! REVISED with new content in chap 9
1. The Invitiation

**hey all**

_I hope you enjoy the story. Thanks to the people who've reviewed so far, please please review if you read this. Feed-back is very important to me. Thanks to abyssgirl for letting me know about this site, and also to my Beta reader.Thnakyouthankyouthankyou. _

**Chapter 1 – 4 weeks earlier**

Callum Redbrook was the kind of man that pushed in front of old ladies in shop lines. He was the kind of man who ate the last donut without asking if anybody else wanted it. He was a chauvinistic, egotistical pig and for three embarrassing years I was in love with him.

Still, it had been almost two years now since he'd dumped me. And not that I hadn't gotten over him, I_ had_. It was the pride, really. The little voice in my head that wondered what was so wrong with that he had dumped me for another girl. A girl with bigger boobs and blonder hair. It was all pride talking. He'd hurt my vanity, my plan was to hurt his right back.

The plan was born in light of my sister's engagement.

When she'd rung me with the news I was, of course, the perfect sister. Gushing. Bright. Bubbly. Oh _Darling_, I'm so _happy_ for you (when really I was seething in jealousy because she'd always been the better daughter to mum. The first born, the first graduated, the first, god help me, _married_.) It was disgusting and pitiful that I still felt any need at all to compete with her. Obviously I was matured now since 12th grade. Obviously I could handle her wedding with a nice big fuck-you smile.

Then she'd dropped the bomb.

"Oh, and _darling_" she'd added, just as I was about to happily hang up after hours of listening to her talk about _gorgeous _Peter "Callum's going to be there. You know how he and Peter are such good friends. He's bringing along his lovely Veronica too so don't get any ideas. I'm sure you're old enough to handle it."

Bitch.

_So don't get any ideas_.

What the hell did she think I was? Some sort of desperado? Did she think I was the kind of girl who would attempt to hook her ex-boyfriend at her sisters wedding? Well, maybe, because that was the first thing that came to mind. Stolen romantic moments. _Ria, I still love you. _And I would of course, be ever so obliging and take him back and patch his broken heart together again.

I was disgusted with myself, true, but Callum, even if he did push in front of little old ladies in a mad dash to get to the counter first, was gorgeously irresistible. In my mind at least.

But then my loving sister had mentioned Veronica. _The_ Veronica. The home-wrecker rat who'd taken him from me with a snap of her fingers and a shimmy. A little snap! And our relationship of 3 years was doomed to failure. No, I wouldn't be wasting time thinking about Callum anymore. At least not in that sense.

As they say, don't get mad, get even.

XXXX

"Michel?"

I sat in my living room and twisted the phone cord around and around my little finger. Even though he couldn't see me, I was trying my best to look cool and sophisticated. Clearly I couldn't care less what his answer would be. Just curious. Nothing really, just a little favour to ask…

"Ariana."

There was definitely wariness in his voice. Wariness and resignation. Michel was a good enough friend to know that when I got that tone of voice, sweet, needling, there was a 'brilliant idea' coming on, an idea which didn't have the best track record for flaming success. But he was also a good enough friend that he'd keep trying them with me, even when he knew they were doomed to failure.

"How would you feel about spending 3 weeks in London?"

There. Nice and casual. Make it seem like its going to benefit _him_.

"London." He repeated flatly. "You want me to go to London. With _you_."

I tried not to be offended.

"Well…yes."

"_Why_?" In the background I could hear him moving around, the fridge door opening and the distinct sound of a coke can being opened, then swallowed.

"Um…" I stalled, wondering what to say. In my mind, Michel had said _Yes_! instantly, and off we went. Easy peasy.

"Because Ria, if you haven't forgotten, there's this thing called _work_. And this other thing called paying the rent and this other thing called a thousand dollar plane trip. _You _might not have a problem with any of those things, but _I _certainly do."

"It's only for 3 weeks Michel,_ christ_." And it wasn't like he couldnt afford to take time off from his stupid job. His job was so damn flexible it made me sick. Sick and jealous.

He sighed, exasperated.

"Fine. Whatever. Don't come." I made to hang up, slowly, keeping my ear pressed to the phone the whole time, waiting for him to give in.

"Wait, Ria, wait." A sigh.

_Yes_! "Yes?"

He grumbled quietly, then "There better be a damn good reason for doing this."

"See you soon." I smiled and put the phone down.

XXXX

Michel, as usual, came over for dinner that night. Well, brought dinner over to me. It was a little ritual we'd had for years, Half-dry pasta from the place down the road, and their specialty cream sauce. It wasn't exactly a 5-star course, or even a one star, but Michel and I were creatures of habit.

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and walked into the kitchen, dumping the pasta on the bench as he went.

"So, explain." His tone left no room for arguments. If he was shelling out for a plane ticket to London then he deserved an explanation for going.

He bent down and rummaged in the cupboards for some bowls and I tried to ignore his too-delectable rear end. If I hadn't known Michel for so long, watched him grow from total geek to total spunk, I was sure I'd be in love with him by now. Or at least, naked in bed with him. Michel was a man of appetites, I well knew. I just wasn't sure why those appetites hadn't tried to work their charms on me.

Still, I wasn't curious enough to question it. Michel was Michel, he'd always be enough just the way he was.

"Ria? _Hello_?"

I blinked and realised I'd been staring at him, and looked away quickly.

"The explanation, please."

"Well…" I wondered how to break it to him how blatantly I was going to use him. Honesty was the best way I decided bravely, squaring my shoulders.

"You remember Callum?"

Michel winced and nodded his head. Of course he remembered Callum. Michel had had to suffer through all my tears and tantrums and joys concerning Callum for _three whole years_.

"Well, it's my sisters wedding in 4 weeks..." I trailed off, not sure how to proceed. I imagined myself an undercover agent, thinking about where to place the bomb for minimum damage and greatest advantage to the mission. In the end though, it wouldn't make much difference. Everything would blow up the same way.

Michel interrupted my plans with a raised eyebrow, "And I take it Callum's going to be there."

I nodded, "Best man." The bastard.

"And you want me there because…"

"You're my best friend" I said quickly, bowing out of my resolution for total honesty. "I need some support." In the form of a loving, attention-giving Date.

He looked skeptical and crossed his arms, waiting for more.

I sighed, resigned finally to telling the whole truth. "And I want you to, well, be my date."

There was a moment of silence and then Michel burst into laughter. "You want me to be your date?"

I glared at him, "It's not funny!"

Michel stopped laughing but he grinned at me. "Let me get this straight, you're trying to make Callum jealous right?"

Uneasily I nodded.

"So you want _me_ to play your _lover_ for 3 weeks?"

I winced at his choice of words, "Yes."

"_Me_?"

What the hell was his problem?

"Yes, you, _Michel." _I added his name in just in case he tried to ask again.

"You do realise we're going to have to act like lovers right? We're going to have to share the same room, the same _bed_, I'm going to have to be _affectionate_" He grimaced. Affectionate was not something Michel was good at. He liked his space and usually his girlfriends all annoyed him. I should know,I was the one who had deal with all his frustration.

"Well, we don't have to go all out. Just, you know, hold hands."

"And that's going to make Callum jealous is it? _Holding hands_? What is this, an expedition back to 3rd grade?"

I frowned, "Obviously, he'll be so struck by our _love_ for one another all he'll be able to think about is getting me back so he can have that to." I was joking. Sort of. I hadn't really thought past the part where Callum sees another man at my side that's not _him_. Apparently, we'd have to act like a couple as well. I knew that for me, just _seeing_ Veronica at his side would be enough to send me into a jealous rage.

But maybe it wasn't the same for men. Experience told me they weren't the sort to jump to assumptions, like the fact I would be madly in love with Michel, unless they were shown cold hard facts. And even then you had to slap them with it in the face a few times, moronic beings that they were.

Michel approached me carefully and tilted my chin up slowly, looking into my eyes. Michel had the most wondrous eyes, this calm gray, like a cloudy sky. But the colour was bright, clear. Beautiful.

"Is this what this is about Ria? Getting Callum back?" I snapped out of my soppy thoughts and focused on what he was saying.

I yanked away. "Of course not! I just want him to _want_ me back." My chin tingled a little where he'd touched me, but I ignored it. Too focused on what he was suggesting. Didn't he realise I had more pride than that?

With a roll of his eyes Michel turned away and poured the pasta and sauce into the two bowls on the bench, wrinkling his nose slightly at the lumpy mixture. "I don't know why we still eat this shit; it should have killed us years ago," he muttered, half to himself, half to me.

I ignored him and shook my hair back from my face, waiting for him to say something _constructive_.

"You really want me to do this? You really think we can pull this off?"

Suddenly I was angry, "Well if this plan is so _despicable_ to you, if it _revolts_ you so much than forget it! I'll just find someone else!" Getting angry probably wasn't the best way to go about it, I knew, but still. Did he have to be so damn reasonable? _All the time?_

"Yeah? Like who?" He'd turned towards me again, leaning on the bench with his arms folded. He looked serious, his eyes grim.

"I don't know…" My eyes lit with inspiration, "Gabriel!" Gabriel would do it in a moment, he'd find the whole thing hilarious.

Michel raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You're going to ask a gay man to play your lover?" There it goes again. The Reasonable Answer to everything. Dammit.

I waved my hand carelessly. I could play this logic game too. "Totally beside the point, Michel, Gabriel's a majoring in theatre; he'll have to learn to do this sort of thing sooner or later." There. I'm practically doing this for _his_ benefit.

He shook his head in exasperation. "You're impossible you know? You're like a train wreck waiting to happen."

"I am _not_ a train wreck" I retorted indignantly, "This whole thing is about proving to my family exactly that!" And I snatched my bowl from the bench and stormed out of the room.


	2. The Flight

**Chapter 2 – 4 weeks later - Sunday**

"I still can't believe I agreed to this."

Michel sat beside me on the plane, drumming his fingers nervously on the armrest. I shot him an amused (and smugly self-satisfied glance) and decided to allow him a little pity. I'd won the argument after all, winners can afford to compromise.

"Aw come on Mike, it won't be so bad."

He looked at me in disbelief, "Ria, I practically just signed up to a three week theatre show! How can it be anything _but_ bad?"

I frowned. I was getting a bit annoyed with all his moaning, really. Was it really _that_ hard to pretend to find me attractive? I knew I wasn't a hag; I had enough attention from men to keep my ego inflated. But then, in Michel's opinion those men were all morons. Their attention probably didn't count.

I opened the book I'd bought to amuse myself in the plane flight. Buggered if I'd offer him any entertainment now.

"Okay," he conceded finally, after a moment of silence. "So maybe it won't be _that_ bad. But Ria, it just feels, I dunno, a little _weird_."

I raised an eyebrow, turned the page, pretending to be riveted by the story. Truthfully, I had no idea what the book was about, specifically anyway. It had the colourful, happy-go-lucky cover art I usually associated with fluffy, foppy modern fairy-tales and right now, a modern fairy-tale was exactly what I felt like. As long as the characters were happy in the end I wasn't too concerned about the story.

"I mean," he continued, not fooled at all by my page turning, "Come on. It _me_ for chrissake. It's me, Michel. _Friend_ Michel. Doesn't it make you feel a bit uncomfortable that for the next few weeks we're going to actually have to _date_." He said this a hefty amount of revoltion laced in his voice.

There was something in his eyes I couldn't quite place. Like he was waiting for something. And the answer to what he was waiting for would make some sort of final decision for him.

"God, Michel, its _pretend_. Im not asking you to sleep with me or anything." I snapped my book closed and folded my arms grumpily.

Honestly, could the man be any more tactless? Okay, so I get it, Michel doesn't like me that way. Duh. We wouldn't be friends now if he did. But he sure knew how to hit where it hurt, za-_boom_ straight to the girls ego.

Sensing my sudden shift in mood he grimaced and took my hand carefully. "Come on Ria, you know I didn't mean it like that. You're a very beautiful woman. I know that, you know that, even _Callum _knows that." There was marked distaste in his voice as he said this. "And, if I wasn't your best friend, I'm sure I'd be delighted by this turn of events. But all I'm saying is that it's going to take some adjusting okay?"

I saw that the flicker in Michel's eyes had faded abruptly, his decision made. I couldn't help feeling it was a momentous decision, but I couldn't bring myself to worry about it too much. What was happening now was much more important.

I rolled my eyes and snatched my hand back. "This isn't some sort of end-of-world production Mike. It's just _me_. And my family. And all you have to do is be a bit mushy towards me every now and then. Nothing major. It's really not that big a deal okay?"

Even though it was. Even though I understood what Michel was saying and felt the same way. It was a big deal because I knew, the moment I got there, that acting oblivious to Callum would be impossible. And acting nicely to Veronica would be like saying to a volcano '_Please don't erupt. I know your feeling a bit temperamental, but not today okay?_' And Veronica was the Vesuvius of all volcanos. The mighty destructor of cities. And Relationships.

And I knew that as much as I wanted to pretend that I didn't care, I did. Because it was Callum. The Callum who'd shattered my heart into pieces two years ago and left me with all it's broken bits scattered across the floor, from where Michel had helped me pick them up and stick them together again.

More than anything I hoped that Michel being there would stop me from doing anything stupid. God knows I needed someone to pull the brakes every now and then before I tumbled off a cliff. This time, I had a feeling I'd need an iron fence and a thousand pillows to stop my head-first rush into humiliation.

I glanced at Michel, who was busy trying to adjust his headphones around his mop of ruffled chocolate-brown hair, and hoped he'd prove to be just as solid and unyielding as he looked. Especially when it came to his sort-of girlfriend.

XXXX

**Day 1 - Monday**

"Okay, so remind me again how we met?"

We were sitting in a hired car in front of my parents house, sunk down low in the seats so they wouldn't see my face and come to investigate why me, my date and my luggage hadn't stumbled inside yet. I could see my parents and their guests moving around inside, thin, long shadows against the heavy draperies my mother insisted my father buy for her, despite his protests that they were a) ugly (true) and b) too expensive (also true).

I flipped down the sun visor and quickly checked that all my make-up was still in place and my hair hadn't developed a medusa-esque look. Being the unhappy bearer of a head of unruly curly hair, London weather (rainy and depressing) wasn't the healthiest environment for my vanity to thrive in. It was, though I'd never admit, one of the reasons I left London and moved to New York in the first place. The other reason being, in a word, Bethany.

"Well, my family already know you, right?" Which they did. As disinterested as my mother and sister were in my life, they would have to be stupid, blind and deaf not to know about Michel. None of which they were, though I'd suspected them of being all three at times.

"Right."

"So, we just tell them that the friendship developed a little further, got a little heavier and, well, there we are." Fool-proof, reasonable, just Michel's cup of tea. He didn't even argue about it.

"And how long have we been dating?"

"Six months, long enough for them to take it seriously," For _Callum _to take it seriously, "but not long enough that mum will drag out the Wedding Planners yet."

Michel winced, imagining the scenario.

He'd met my mother only once, when her and my father come to visit last year ago and had barged through the door, laden in luggage and souvenir t-shirts to find him sprawled on my couch, unconscious and wearing only boxers. When he'd come to, he'd been friendly but quick to leave.

I was sure it wasn't too big a leap of the imagination for my parents, my mother especially, to jump the next step and imagine him in boxers in my bed. Even I'd indulged in that little fantasy at times. Only in my darkest moments of course.

"So, you ready?" I forced a bright smile, but guessed from his pale face that it looked much less 'lets-have-a-fun-and-hilarious-adventure' and much more 'if-you-kill-me-now-I'll-be-eternally-thankful'.

With a shrug and a sigh he answered "I guess so" in a tortured voice and got out of the car.

XXXX

We didn't have much luggage. Michel, being a male, could comfortably wear the same three t-shirts in a kind of rotational cycle over three weeks. I had explained that as my boyfriend, I would clearly never date a guy who wore only three t-shirt varieties, and persuaded him to pack another three. As well as slacks, trousers and jeans.

For my part, I was a light traveler, for a girl. I'd only packed my most fashionable and New-York-girl-clothing, and a scattering of shoes that together, covered most occasions. For the wedding itself I was, predictably, my sisters Maid of Honour and had no doubt that she would dress me as hideously as possible. For the rest of my stay I was determined to look as presentable as I could.

For my first meet with my sister (and Callum. And Victoria) in 2 years I had chosen carefully. I wore loose black pants, flatteringly cut around my hips and that fell nicely around my high-heeled feet. My blouse was simple white, nicely fitted, long-sleeved. I wore sunglasses on my head and had loosely plaited my thick hair. I thought I looked business like and sophisticated. I felt ready, so to speak, to tackle an army of cheating men.

Michel, walking carefully by my side and growing more tense every step we took towards the font-door, was attractive in a dark grey casual suite and open collared white shirt. His brown hair was still floppy, slightly ruffled, but he was definitely cute. Definitely brag material. And definitely hot enough to make my sister jealous. I was more than pleased.

I smiled warmly at him as I knocked on the door, and he, to my surprise, smiled back and took my hand.

And then the door was flung open.

XXXX


	3. The Meeting

**Chapter 3**

XXXX

My mother stood in the doorway wearing Chanel and a wide, wolf-like smile. Kim Wilkins, even in her 60's, was a stunning woman. Her dark hair, though not as dark as mine and definitely not natural, was still soft and shiny, her dark eyes bright in a golden-hued face. We had nothing in common save the dark hair and the slim, almost skinny, figure. Still, I had bigger boobs than her. Point one to me.

"Ariana! Im so glad you could make it!"

I allowed her to give me a quick hug and a fierce kiss on the cheek. She turned to Michel and her smile, if possible, widened.

"Michel isn't it? And you're the lovely man who's made my daughter so happy these last few months aren't you. I've heard all about you of course." She hadn't, but I suppose it made her feel better to think she had some knowledge of her daughter's personal life.

Michel allowed her a kiss and a hug, and smiled so brightly I was sure his face would crack from the strain. "That would be me, Mrs Wilkins" he replied jollily, strategically placing an arm around my waist to ward off any further displays of affection.

My mother fluttered on a bit more. _Oh, Michel, look how handsome you are. Oh, you didn't tell me he was in sales Ria! _He wasn't, but it sounded good. Nice and rounded. I wasn't really entirely sure what Michel did for a living, though he tried again and again to explain it. I had a habit of zoning out every time he started on about his 'career'. Much like he had a habit of zoning out when I nagged him about clothes. Our responses to one-another were carefully automated and carelessly given.

But still, Sales was easy to remember, and easy to bluff. And I was already expecting the pained smile on his face at this remark so it didn't bother me too much.

Finally, my mother decided we'd suffered enough and led us inside, past a group of strangers ("Peter's friends. Bo-_ring_." I was told in a whisper), and towards a man who I noticed, with the acute relief of a drowner sighting a life-guard, was my father.

"Evan look! Ria's here! And her boyfriend Michel!"

My father, looking amused and tolerant, turned from his conversation with another elderly gentlemen I was sure I was supposed to know, and gave me a hug. It was a nice hug, warm, comforting, relaxing. Everything that my mother's whirlwind groping and grasping didn't quiet convey. She was so caught up in _trying_ to be welcoming that she missed the mark completely and hurtled off towards painful.

My father was the opposite. He was just _there_. Steady and calm and with the kind of re-assuring wrinkles of a man who's seen the world and has found a place he's happy with to live out the rest of his life. He oozed confidence. Even Michel relaxed instantly in his presence.

"And how's my youngest daughter?" he asked me gently, looking at me with kind eyes. We left mum to finish her meet-and-greet rounds and he led us to a couch on the far side of the room where we could talk in peace. He made sure Michel and I were comfortable before taking the seat opposite us, and lighting a cigar.

"Want one?" he asked, offering the tin to Michel, who refused politely. Michel was always trying to quit smoking. I could practically see the drool seeping out the corners of his mouth at the thought of a _cigar_.

Dad shrugged and took a drag. "Well?" he asked me, raising a thick eyebrow.

I glanced quickly at my 'boyfriend'. "Life is good, dad, everything coming along fine. Everything's the same as always." _Boring boring boring!_

"Except for Michel," Dad stated, smiling at him, his eyes bright. Dad always liked to imagine his daughters happy, wherever they might be, and I knew he worried for my in New York. No doubt he was thrilled I wasn't alone anymore.

"Yes" I agreed uneasily. I'd always hated, more than anything, to lie to my father. I changed the subject quickly, "And how's the wedding coming along? I haven't seen Beth yet. Or Peter" Or Callum and bitch-face.

My father grimaced "Last time I saw those two they were on their way upstairs for a 'quick nap'. They've been gone for hours. Managed to avoid meeting all the guests that have arrived so far too. Your mothers determined not to disturb the them." He stubbed his cigar, shook his head sadly, "And the weddings fine. Though neither of _them_ will admit it." _Them_, meaning mother and Bethany. "They're both so damn worried all the time about every single little thing. It doesn't make for quiet living."

He sighed and suddenly looked much older, as if this entire ordeal was something he could have gone without. "Tell you what, why don't you go say hi to Beth huh? Get her out of her self-imposed exile. I'll look After Michel here" he winked at me slyly and threw Michel a quick grin.

I looked over at him quickly, and he gave me a small nod. As much as I wanted to get meeting with Beth over and done with, I didn't want to leave him in the wolf den by himself. But he looked calmer, and as I left I saw dad move from his seat to the couch beside him.

Maybe it would do dad some good to have a bit of man-to-man conversation.

XXXX


	4. The Beginning

**Chapter 4**

I stood outside my sister's old bedroom and prep talked myself into knocking.

I could hear the low murmur of voices beyond the door and I wished dad hadn't built the walls _quite_ so thick. Mentally, I tried to prepare myself to see Beth. Gorgeous Beth. Lovely Beth. Queen of bitches Beth.

I thought about leaving. Just picking up Michel from the living room and walking on out the door. I'd do it just to spite her. Just because I knew it would annoy her. But the other half of me knew it would annoy her even more if I was here, with a hot boyfriend. She always hated me having anything that could rival her own possessions.

With a deep breath I raised my hand to knock, and stumbled back in shock when the door opened before me with a sudden crash, accompanied by swearing.

"I don't give a _shit_ about the flowers Bethany! Who gives a fuck if they're not fresh? Just get the cheapest shit you can find and _get this day over with_!"

I stared with wide eyes at the golden Apollo standing in the doorway, his face contorted in frustration, a tie strangling his neck. _This _was Peter? Quiet, well-mannered Peter? The Peter I'd actually felt sorry for when I heard he and Beth were getting married?

He looked at me finally, and some of the anger drained away from his face. "Sorry, you must be Ariana" he said, even though he knew full well who I was. I glared at him, feeling some (to my surprise) amount of protectiveness for my sister.

He must have seen the look in my eyes because he grimaced and shrugged past me. "See if you can calm her down for me okay?" he called back as he strode off down the hall, as if he were asking someone to fix him a coffee. Or pass the chocolates. I stared after him incredulously.

"Ria? Is that you?" At the voice, familiar, hated, sickly sweet, I turned back to the doorway and stepped into the room cautiously. My sister, all curvy 6 feet of her, stood by the window, her back to me, arms folded on her chest.

As I entered she turned around and smiled widely, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. Or add any warmth to her face. It was the kind of painted on smile a clown wears. Except Bethany, unfortunately, was much more attractive than a clown.

"Im so glad you came" she gushed, running forward and giving me a hug, as if this were just any other day and I hadn't just witnessed a fissure in domestic bliss. As if her eyes weren't red-rimmed and swollen from crying.

"Beth?" I asked, again surprised at myself for caring, "Is everything okay with you and Peter?"

Her smile got bigger, brighter, and I had to stop myself from squinting. "Of course! Everything's wonderful? Why wouldn't it be?"

_Because he doesn't seem so enthusiastic about the wedding actually, _I felt like saying. But I didn't. I went down the tactful lane, preferring to keep the peace, and I shrugged.

"No reason, just curious."

Beth shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing, "Silly Ria" she tutted, "of course everything's fine!" her voice was sweet but her eyes warned me to stay out of it. Keep my mouth shut.

I planned on doing just that.

"And anyway" she continued, "so I've just _got_ to hear all about this Michel boy. Tell me all the details!"

I wasn't surprised mum had told Beth about Michel. I could just imagine the conversation.

"_Oh Bethy! Ria's bringing a date to the wedding! A Date! Can you believe it?"_

"_Why, no mama. I didn't know she could even attract real men!"_

So no, I wasn't surprised she knew. But I was surprised she asked me about it. Or was interested at all. Usually she'd just belittle it, treat him as someone only worth the vaguest of interests. This whole sisterly act threw me off.

As I blabbed on about Michel, how we met, what he did, how romantic he was etc etc, I studied her carefully, looking for any sign of outward change. Something that would alert me to this whole new act she had going. I hated not knowing with Beth. She was only safe if you could predict her. Once you lost the plot you were gone. Blah. Squished like a bug beneath her foot.

I was feeling very much like a bug.

But she looked the same as always. Late 20's. Healthy, solarium tanned, Colgate white teeth and a million dollar smile. Her eyes were clear blue, big, heavily made up in mascara, her lips berry red. We were the opposite in every way, including appearance. I had inherited the darker looks in the family, the paler skin, mum's too-thin figure, delicate face. Beth looked strong and athletic, voluptuous but not overweight. We were too different _not_ to have rivalries, all sisters had rivalries. Only, ours, I was sure, had escalated out of control the day I turned 16.

We chatted idly for half an hour before I convinced her to come downstairs and greet all the guests. She asked me to help her dress, and I advised a floaty summer blue number with a sash tie and plain white flats. She looked pretty and wholesome and I felt like the twggy stepsister next to her.

But she was nice, chatty, happy. I felt myself grow more and more tense, waiting for the onslaught of barbed comments. None came. _What the hell are you on? _I wanted to demand of her, _give me back my sister! _

Then it came.

"Oh, and by the way Ria" she said, pausing before we left the room and adjusting a lock of blonde hair in the mirror. In the reflection, her eyes bored into mine, anticipatory and hungry. I tensed instantly. "We'll have to go out shopping with Veronica tomorrow, to get her brides-maids dress. It a last minute thing" she said, perfectly nonchalant, "I hope you don't mind _too much_."

_Wham_.

I was sixteen years old again and had just caught my perfect older sister having sex with my first real boyfriend. The day after I'd given my virginity to him.

"Oh Ria stop being so _dramatic_, its not that big a deal" she'd said, rolling her eyes at him and tickling her hand along his stomach. He, atleast, had the grace to look guilty. Still, he hadn't moved away from her, or come after me when I'd closed the door on the two of them. I had heard Beth giggle. _Poor Ria, such an innocent. _And then there was muffled laughter and a playful squeal. Obviously, he hadn't felt guilty for long.

Wham. Wham. Wham.

I imagined a commentator on my shoulder, trying to calm a cheering crowd. "_And she's dowwwwwwwn ladies and gentlemen! But will she get back up? Will she make it? She's moved! I see her fingers twitching! And she'd UPPPP again! Look at that! Talk about a miracle!" _

I looked into my sister's calm, tranquil face and smiled.

"Of course I don't mind Bethany, why ever would I?"

But I felt sick. And in my head, all I could think was bitch.

Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.

XXXX


	5. The Trip

**Chapter 5**

Thank god for Michel.

The moment I'd stumbled back downstairs, shell-shocked by sisterly betrayal, he'd taken me by the arm and led me to the bar, sitting me firmly down on the seat. A moment later a drink appeared in front of me. I wasn't sure quiet what it was, but that was completely beside the point right now. I didn't need to know. I just needed to get pissed.

"Im assuming," Michel said after a moment of watching me dive into my cup like a starving man "that she'd gone and done the dirty again."

See, that's why I love Michel. He just has the nicest phases at his disposal. I wondered where he got them from. A Mans Guide to Not Using Foul language perhaps? She's gone and done the dirty. Fuck yes, she'd dirtied. She's the queen of dirt. Of grime. Of everything bad and gross and sadistic.

I choked on a laugh, felt tears prick my eyes.

"You could say that." I said, taking another gulp of sweet, oozy liquid.

"And am I right to guess it has something to do with Callum?"

Again the wince, as if his name were particularly painful for him to say.

I shrugged. "Warm."

"Ah. Veronica."

This time _I_ winced. "Please don't say that name. You know what they say about calling the devils name calls him to you."

Michel sighed and took the now empty glass away, replacing it with another within moments. I took it gratefully, not even caring that I wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line for the next few hours. Who cared? I was going shopping with The Veronica, Man-Eater of New York City, _tomorrow_. A girl was entitled to a little comfort with something like that facing her.

"What happened?" Michel asked patiently, his voice calm. I was suddenly glad I'd asked Michel to come with me. He was a calming influence on me. I tried to imagine this situation with Gabriel sitting beside me, and shuddered. He would have supported me sure, but he also would have encouraged my temper. Fanned the flames if you will. And I wasn't sure my hatred of Veronica went so far as to wish death upon her, though the idea had looked mighty fine in worse times.

"We're going shopping tomorrow. Shopping!"

"Who?" Still patient, still deadly calm. This time, when he took my empty glass away, he didn't replace it.

"Me. Bethany. _Veronica_."

"Ah."

"And…!"

He waited, "…And! She'd going to be a bridesmaid! With me!"

"I see."

I sat there, waiting for a _'Ria, your sisters a sadistic bitch'_ or a '_clearly they're just trying to make your life hell. Don't worry. You're better than them in every way.' _But it didn't come, all he did was sigh and stand up.

"Where are you going?"

"_We_ are going out."

"Out? Where?"

Michel shook his head and helped me to my feet; I gasped as my head spun suddenly, and stumbled, falling against him. He pushed me back firmly, hands tight on my shoulders, and steered me to the door, ignoring the curious looking guests we passed.

"It doesn't matter where, we're just going out. We need to clear your head."

I mumbled something about needing to clear everyone else's head, or rather, Veronica's head [by sticking a spade into it and pulling out her brains but Michel tactfully ignored me. I didn't protest when he sat me in the car, then went around to the driver's side and started the engine.

The radio switched on automatically, and the glam rock vocals of David Bowie blasted our ears. I expected him to turn it down, but he only turned it up louder, singing along quietly.

To the love-inducing lyrics of Rebel Rebel, we drove away into the night.

It would have almost been romantic if we hadn't had to stop after 5 minutes so I could throw up on the side of the road, and again, showing his tactful side, Michel said nothing when I climbed back in the car. He had given me the drinks anyway. It was his fault more than mine.

I refused to give into the feeling that nearly all of this was my fault.

XXXX

We stumbled back into my parents house in the wee hours of the morning, giggling and drunk and hazy eyed from the heavy pub smoke. I felt light, floaty, as if I were looking down on myself from a far distance. As I watched, I saw Michel grab my arm and haul me closer, and while leaning on other, we attempted to navigate the stairs.

We only made it half-way before we gave up and crawled.

We collapsed infront of my old bedroom door and gasped for breath, laughing too hard to even think about being quiet. Only when a pair of blue fluffy slippers appeared infront of me did I find the will-power to stop laughing, and I felt Michel stop too, shrinking back again the door and my shoulder as if I could protect him from some deathly fate.

I looked up into Beth's angry stare and cringed.

"_Some people,_" she stressed the words, making it clear that those _some people_ were the sensible adults who went to bed at a decent hour, "are trying to sleep."

I giggled at this, I couldn't help myself. It was just such a _Beth_ thing to say.

"Oh Beth" I laughed drunkenly, "You're so _Beth._" Michel and I were both rather impressed with my wit but my sister just glared at me, then with a long-suffering sigh, reached out and hauled me to my feet. She let Michel get up on his own.

She opened my bedroom door and thrust me inside, and stared at Michel until he slunk in behind me.

"Get some sleep." She told me angrily, "It's a big day tomorrow." She paused before she shut the door "And for god's sake have a shower, you both smell like the pub. Im assuming you can manage to undress yourselves."

She slammed the door closed behind her.

We collapsed back on the bed, giggling.

"What a hard-ass" Michel stage-whispered in my ear, and I agreed sombrely.

"I've heard" I said mock-grimly, staring into his laughing eyes "that she even has a magic broomstick that she fly's around on at night!"

Michel snorted with laughter and rolled me over so I faced away from him, then pulled me back against his chest and hugged me tight.

"Forget the shower" he mumbled, his voice changing from amused to sleepy in seconds, "and get some sleep. This witch is right; it _is_ a big day tomorrow."

Tomorrow. With Veronica.

I tried to feel disgusted and angry, but I couldn't find my fury from before. All I could think, as I drifted off to sleep, was that this, with Michel, was _nice_.

I buried in closer to him.

Very nice.

XXXX


	6. The Declaration

**Chapter 6 – Day 2 - Tuesday**

Like most people do the morning following a night of heavy drinking, I declared with total honesty and determination that I would _never_ drink again. I said this to Michel, hoping that having a witness to my newest aspiration would make me stick by it with more willpower than certain other ambitions. Like going to the gym everyday.

But Michel, sleepy and sick and hardly in the mood to deal with daylight, just snorted and rolled over, burying his head under the pillow. I watched him for a moment, remembering how it had felt to wake up in someone's arms again. True, we weren't sexily naked, or going to indulge in a quick morning shag, but it had been _nice_. Nicer than I'd had in a long time. I loved the feel of someone with their arms about me; it made me feel safe.

But the moment the sun had hit the blinds and we had woken us up groaning and spluttering indignation ("As _if_ daylight is that blinding. This is all some sort of sick joke."), Michel's arms had disappeared and the space dividing us in the double bed had widened. Michel, as expected, kept his affection for moon-lit hours. And only under the influence of copious amounts of vodka.

I sighed and stared at the white ceiling, still decorated with the now ratty star stickers I'd plastered on in my youth. They'd glown in the dark once, and I had thrilled at the thought that I was _sleeping under the stars_, just minus the mozzies and the cold.

My room was the same as ever, the white wash walls plain without the posters of celebrity toy-boys I'd once had. There was nothing in it that screamed 'this is me!'. It was simple and practical. Even the bed was practical. Swapped with the single when I'd grown old enough to complain about the size. I felt sad that I'd failed to leave a lasting mark on even my own childhood home. I wondered if it would be the same if I moved out of my New York apartment now.

Then I thought about it and decided, no, it wasn't the same. If I moved all my furniture out of my tiny apartment there would still be traces of _me_ there. A wine-stain on the carpet from a crazy night in with my girls, which I'd stealthily (or so I thought), hid beneath a low futon. There were the scuff marks on the roof, god knows how they got there, but they had, at some point in my inhabitancy. And the tiny little inscription on the wall, down the very corner and out of sight, that Michel and I had put there once for this very reason. It said, in delicate, neat handwriting 'I was here once'.

Yes, even my apartment, clean and practical as it might be, had traces of my life there. But then, maybe it was because there I _have_ a life. My own life. Something I'd always wanted but never had a home.

I sighed and wondered if it was the last traces of alcohol causing me such deep thoughts. Usually in the mornings I was on autopilot. Get up. Shower. Get dressed. Make-up. Shoes. Check for keys. Purse. Leave house. Lying in bed thinking, was _new_. Or new for me anyway.

Beside me Michel groaned and rolled over again. He's taken off his shirt at some point in the night, and his bare chest gleamed nicely in the light that sifted through the now closed blinds. I watched him stretch and felt my mouth water, then scolded myself firmly when I could drag my eyes away. _Stop it. This is Michel. Michel Michel Michel. _

"Urgh," he said, and I knew just how he felt. "Whattimeisit?"

Luckily for him I could understand hangover-Michel. "8:30" I replied, feeling a bit superior because I could talk properly and space out my words. But then, I'd been awake almost an hour. Lying in bed. Thinking. I smiled to myself.

"Urgh," he voiced his distaste, followed by a few grunts as he forced himself to sit up and blinked groggily. "What time is shopping?" I noticed how much care he put into forming the words and bit back a smug smile.

Then his words processed and I suddenly felt sick. Sicker then I was this morning, even.

Shopping.

Somehow I'd managed to block it out of my mind until now. Shopping. How could I forget? Shopping with Bethany and bitch-face. A girl's worst nightmare. Especially when both of them happened to be widely rich and would shop in all the most fashionable shops, and I could imagine their catty comments already _"oh, but Ria, it looks so lovely on you. It's a shame you can't afford it…well, maybe we can find it in a…factory outlet or something?" _Then their glances, sly, snide.

In a word, Fuck.

"Fuck" I said out loud, with feeling, injecting all my anger into it. I _snarled_ it. "Fuck!"

Beside me, Michel chuckled throatily, his face still dazed, dreamy. "Gosh Ria, don't be so _nice_. You know they don't deserve it."

I glared at him and threw the covers back, swung my legs out of bed and stormed off into the small adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

"Fuck!" I said, one last time. And I felt better.

I'd get through this, one step at a time.

First step, get dressed.

XXXX

I dressed carefully, obviously. I wasn't about to make it easy for Beth and Veronica to pick me to pieces. No surrey. I went all out. Stylish faded blue-grey jeans, black skin-tight top, a cute black jacket over this and a heavy, long bronze necklace to top it off. I dressed my ears in bronze to, heavy hoops that looked deceivingly simple but had cost a well-spent fortune. I pulled my hair up loosely, so it still hung over my shoulders and curled down around my face in artful tendrils. My make-up was dark and smoky, but I kept free of the lipstick. My skin was pale, and too-much colour on my lips made me look like a vampire.

After an hour of careful preening I stepped back and checked over my handiwork. Nice. Simple. Casual but stylish. I smiled. I almost felt ready to face them both.

Michel lay on the now neatly made bed reading a book, and sighed heavily every time I passed him. In the mirror I caught his eyes rolling heavenward every time I fiddled with my hair or make-up a little more, but I ignored him. He wasn't my boyfriend after all; I didn't have to please him.

Finally, though, he snapped.

"For god's sake Ria, you look great okay?" he snapped, standing up and stomping to the door. "Now can we _please_ go eat breakfast?" he held the door open pointly and suppressing a grin, (okay, so not all my preening was totally innocent, I'd been aware how frustrated he was getting), I pulled on a pair of lacy black ballet flats and grabbed my bag.

He glared at me. "That was all I had to say wasn't it?"

I patted his cheek as I passed him by, "you're still learning baby, I forgive you."

His eyes narrowed at me and I knew I'd pay for that later.

XXXX


	7. The Crunch

**Chapter 7**

When Michel and I made it down for breakfast, we were greeted by total silence.

For everyone present, there was a different reason for this reaction.

Mum and Dad; Still huffed that we had abandoned their little 'welcome all guests' party without so much as a goodbye or by your leave.

Beth; Tired and shitty and most likely because we'd kept her up last night. She glared at me before taking a hefty spoonful of cereal and chewing it like she wished she was chewing on my bones.

Peter; probably annoyed because we'd managed to put Beth into a bad mood, which would only start waning when he committed himself to few hours of grovelling. Judging by his expression though, it wouldn't be anytime soon, and all of us would suffer a little more.

Various house guests (my parents own a big house): Because we'd ignored them last night.

And the last two in the room I hadn't worked up the courage to look at yet, well, that, as they say, is history.

"Good morning Ariana." Said bitch-face rat-shit home-wrecker slag Veronica Bistel, "how nice of you to join us. Today."

Ouch.

I forced myself to look at her. She was, to put it plainly, every mans wet dream, and therefore every woman's worst nightmare. Average height, slim with large breasts barely contained by the most flimsy excuse for a bra I'd ever seen, tight tight _tight_ shirt and short short _short_ skirt, peroxide blonde hair and perfect naturally tanned golden skin. She was a pubescent boy's immature fantasy before they realise that girls like that really aren't worth the body, however delicious it might be.

But still, she'd lasted two years with _my_ man. I hope she dumped him soon. Or that he dumped her. The ideal situation would be for them to dump each other, so they both were absolutely, inconsolably heart-broken. Then, in my over-active imagination, Veronica would gorge herself on chocolate and transform into a whale and Callum would fall in love with a terrifically ugly bitch who liked to beat her men up.

But all this I didn't say, because it would be taken to mean that I was both jealous and immature, and I was _not_.

I was just angry.

I smiled, coldly, into her eyes, and tried to ignore Michel's sudden in drawn breath when he too caught sight of Veronica.

"Hello Veronica, it is, as always, an absolute delight to see you." Remind me why I'd fallen in love with Callum again? If he had this sort of taste, I was embarrassed that he had ever been attracted to me.

Then I turned my eyes to the man I knew would be sitting next to her. Close next to her. With his hand on her thigh. My eyes narrowed, slightly. He hadn't changed at all. Callum Redbrook was, as always, dressed impeccably, well groomed, and the kind of easy handsome that doesn't quiet catch the eye but never hurts it either. Then he smiled at me, that stunning, white-toothed, all natural smile that said 'hey lady-love-im-about-the-best-thing-that-could-ever-happen-to-you', and yes, I remembered again why I'd fallen for his charm so readily.

Even though now, instead of being a turn on, his arrogance was a total turn-off. _Total_.

"Callum" I said, nodding my head and refusing to smile back. Even though the side of my mouth was practically aching to twitch. Just a little. For old times sake. Just like, for old times sake, I remembered what it had felt like to run my hands through his cornfield blonde hair and kiss his smooth, rounded lips, just lightly.

Dammit.

No!

I looked at Michel frantically, and he must have sensed _something_ because he took my arm and snugged it around his waist and said, "If you don't mind, folks, but Ria promised me she'd take me to Pancake House for breakfast, since its my first time in London and all."

I tried not to think about how ridiculous this would sound to them, since the US is practically the king of fast-food and it was a total imbecile who thought that there were no such thing as 'pancake houses' in the kingdom of fast food, and tried to smile encouragingly at my mother.

I saw her soften, because the only thing better than me having a family breakfast at home with her would be me having a romantic breakfast out with my _boyfriend_. I snuggled closer to Michel and smiled winningly at mum.

She caved, her anger from last nights desertion forgotten.

"That's alright dear; you go along and have fun. Just be back in time for shopping, I think the girls want to leave around 12."

And that was it, we were free.

Ignoring the rest of the room, except dad, who winked at me with something like wistfulness on his face, we hurried out of my childhood home and practically dived for the car.

Behind us, it felt the like the house would explode with tension any moment, and we didn't want to be around to deal with the residue.

XXXX


	8. The Plan

**Chapter 8**

I wasn't so sure how Michel had known about pan-cake house, since he'd been telling the truth when he said he'd never been to London before, but we found it easily enough. It was a tiny brick building snug in between Hungry Jacks and a petrol station, just off the main road. I hid my doubts as we went in, and were greeted by checkered plastic table-cloths and fake flowers in Perspex vases.

The waitress at the counter just waved us in the general direction of a sea of spare tables, and we made our choice easily. By the window, the furthest from the kitchen and the alarming noises spewing from it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone, a brunette woman I think, look up at us as we walked towards our table but I ignored her, to busy feeling like shit and thinking about black coffee to pay attention.

"Thankyou" I said quietly to Michel, when we sat down and had the menu's open infront of us, "For before, I mean."

He glanced up and smiled slightly, a warm, genuine smile. "I don't think either of us were in the best state to deal with Callum and Veronica this morning."

I agreed. "What did you think about Veronica?" Did you think she was hot? Better than me? But I wouldn't ask those questions. They were to frightening. Because I knew what the answer would be.

Michel grinned, "She's the sort of girl a college guy dreams about." He answered, confirming my worst fears. I wasn't the sort of girl _anybody_ dreamed about, who the hell was I kidding? Veronica was hot. Jessica Simpson hot. "But" he continued after a deliberate pause, "I'm not a collage guy anymore, and I fail see the attraction, really."

"Even though she'd got tit's the size of basketballs?"

Michel looked deliberately at the menu, flipped a page, "In my experience," he murmured, "tits the size of basketballs aren't very fun. A handful is just about right."

I swallowed, looked down at my own chest, and changed the subject.

"And Beth?"

"And Beth what?"

"What do you think of her?"

Michel raised an eyebrow at me, as if questioning my motives behind this conversation, "She's a manipulative bitch who has her mother eating out the palm of her hand." He raised his hand before I could ask another question, "and to save your breath. I think Paul is one of the unluckiest guys I've ever met and I think your father and mother are lovely, but eccentric, in your mother's case anyway, and I've always hated Callum."

He put the menu down. "Now can we order?"

I wasn't hungry, and had a coffee instead. Michel ordered blueberry pancakes and yoghurt, and judging by his grimace, they weren't exactly up to American standards.

"I think I prefer home-made." He said, finishing off the last of it and wiping his mouth. He eyed my coffee and I passed it over wordlessly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman who had watched us walk into the House get up and walk towards the exit.

But she didn't. Go towards the exit, I mean.

The brunette woman walked straight to our table and grabbed my hand in a bone-crushing hand-shake, smiling manically all the while.

Michel slowly put down his coffee and watched her like one watches a curious animal in a zoo.

"Ariana! Ariana Wilkins it's been far too long!"

I stared at her wonderingly, her completely unrecognisable face not clicking with any sort of memory in my head at all.

She laughed lightly, tossed her hair back. She was a pretty woman, around my age I guessed, with even features and plain brown eyes. She was generically pretty, like almost every young woman is, but nothing special.

"Oh Ariana, don't tell me you don't recognise me!"

I smiled politely and firmly took back my hand "I'm afraid not, and it's Ria."

"Oh come now! Of course you do!"

Well no, not really. At all.

Michel looked at me, eyebrows raised, as if to say, what _is_ this woman? I shrugged back at him.

"Year 11? Remember? We were pretty much best friends!"

Oh well, look at that. I had a best friend and I didn't even realise it.

"Its might help with a name," Michel prompted her pointly, glancing at his watch and then at me.

"Danielle Adams!" She complied readily, "Remember now?"

I gasped. This _was_ Dani? Fatty Dani?

She saw the recognition in my eyes and smiled happily.

"Wow, Dani…you've…" I trailed off, not wanting to sound rude.

"…slimmed down, I know," she finished for me, shrugging lightly and laughing again. I privately wondered how someone could make every word sound so happy and light. I remembered her now. Short Dani, with the podgy face and sad eyes. She'd been so different then, like a broken puppy. I'd hardly have called her my best friend, but well, I wasn't going to break her illusions now.

And then I thought of it.

An evil little plan.

Well, not really that evil, because I doubted Danielle would participate in anything so exciting. Just a little something to annoy Beth. Because I _knew_ this would annoy Beth. Beth had never liked Danielle, hated her even. "Fat people have no excuse," she'd hiss when she saw her "like, for god's sake, just stop eating. Or _something_." At those times I'd pretended not to know my sister, turning my face and staring at the side-walk instead. Sometimes I thought she'd been born a bitch. Like maybe mum had just drunk too much lemon juice when she was pregnant or whatever.

Yes, it would definitely cramp my sister's style if Daniella Adams turned up at her wedding party. An old nemesis so to speak. Plus, it would give Dani a chance to get her own back.

My plan hatched, I grinned up at my old 'best friend'. "Look, I'd love to catch up, but I've really got to head off now. But what are you up to this weekend?"

Michel, having raised my coffee to his lips again coughed and choked and carefully set the cup down again. Danielle was, as usual, oblivious. That at least, had stayed the same.

"Nothing darling! Absolutely nothing!" she declared enthusiastically and my new-yorker-inner-self winced at her choice of words. Never ever, _never_, declare so blatantly that you have no life; it just makes you look desperate.

Which was exactly what Daniella Adams was, I realised, looking at her shining eyes. She'd got her old school friend back and suddenly she was over the moon? I wondered where her friends were, if she had any. I found it hard to imagine though, Danielle sitting around getting drunk in a bar or something. She was much of a knitting-circle kind of girl.

"That's great!" I replied brightly, "because I'm going to this wedding you see, my sisters. You remember Beth? Of course you do. Well, it's her wedding and it would be lovely if you can make it."

Please please please _please_ say yes. Say yes and we can set out making my sisters life hell. Just like she'd done to both of ours.

Michel looked at me incredulously, disapprovingly. It was the kind of look that said 'how can you even think about inflicting Beth on this poor innocent?' I ignored him. In this, atleast, both Dani and myself weren't innocents. We were as experienced as you get.

I saw Danielle hesitate, tense, just like the old Dani. That old sense of un-belonging, the fear of being left out once invited somewhere. Then new, joyful Daniella kicked in and she grinned at me.

"Yes. That would be lovely I think, if you all don't mind!"

Michel shook his head and sighed.

XXXX


	9. The Revelation

**Chapter 9**

Veronica and Bethany were waiting for me when we got back, looking impatient, sunglasses on their heads and keys in hand.

"Finally" Beth hissed at me as I walked in the door, "Its 12:15 for chrissake! Don't you care about anyone but yourself?" Then she saw Michel come up behind me and swallowed her next words, plastering a fake smile in her face and trying to look innocent.

I felt Michel tense and I took his hand gently, squeezing in re-assurance.

I just smiled at my sister "It's nice to have you back, Beth. That sisterly act was getting a bit old."

She rolled her eyes and stormed out the door, Veronica trailing behind her. "Ass in seat in 5 minutes or we go without you!" she called back over her shoulder. I heard them muttering together as they left.

Michel let out a long breath, "Bloody hell. That women's impossible."

"You don't have to live with her mate. You haven't even _seen_ impossible yet" said Peter, appearing in the doorway that led from the kitchen. He looked tired and groggy, but he smiled at me. Something he hadn't bothered to do last night.

"Hey look, sorry about last night" he said, looking at me, "I didn't mean to be so rude. Guess Beth's rubbing off on me. It was just a bad time was all."

How the hell did Beth land a guy like this?

Like, an actual nice guy?

I grinned back at him, figuring he needed the good humour, and he relaxed instantly.

"This is my boyfriend Michel, Peter. You might have met him before" I say, trying to act the polite hostess and do some introductions.

Peter shook Michel's hand and nodded, "Yeah, we came to visit once. Im sure you were there, bit of a step up from best friend eh?"

Michel met my eyes, smiled. "Definitely," he said with so much sincerity _I_ almost believed him.

I glanced over my shoulder; Beth and Veronica were both sitting in the car, staring at me. Peter noticed and waved his hand, "you better go, we both know what they're like." He gave me a weak smile "Good luck and don't worry, I'll look after Michel."

I kissed Michel on the check and left, smiling when I heard Peter say "So how do you like golf?"

I was sure Michel was in for a much better day than I was.

XXXX

As I suspected, the Maid of Honours dress was horrible. Even more horrible then Veronica's. In a moment of unusual communal agreement, Veronica and I shared a look of total disbelief.

After all, there's usually _some_ limit to what a bride will make her ladies wear; generally they stop short of total ridiculousness. How was it that we had ended up with a bride who was _this_ eager to transport us to the realms of medieval frippery?

Because make no mistake, that was what they were.

There even had fishbone corsets. Lace trimming. Taffeta and silk skirts. Veronica's dress was saved a little in that hers was a lime-green. Mine was the garish colour of over-ripe peaches. And had a hat to match.

"You have _got_ to be joking," I said, not even bothering to pretend politeness anymore.

I stood on the pedestal before the room of mirrors and twirled a little, watching with sick fascination as the skirt whirled with me, the light catching the almost metallic reds and pinks and greens and flashing them off like missiles to our eyes. When I moved a little too fast you could even catch a glimpse of the _lacy pink pantaloons_ Beth had insisted we both wear underneath.

Veronica stood on her own pedestal and ran her hands down the fabric of her gown. The lime colour saved it only in the sense that atleast it was all one colour, rather than several.

Beth blinked up at me from her chair, "Why would you think that Ria?" She asked me sweetly.

I just stared at her. I saw the smug satisfaction in her look. No, she wasn't joking. She was doing her best to reduce me to total unattractiveness before the entire Wedding Party. I rolled my airs and stepped down from the pedestal. In this, I wouldn't fight her, but she'd regret it when she was Maid of Honour at _my_ wedding.

I'd have something especially made for her.

Like Alice in Wonderland maybe?

Or Little Bo Beep. Maybe she'd even have to walk a sheep down the aisle. Maybe I'd get Veronica to attend and dress _her_ as a sheep.

Thinking about that made me feel _much_ better.

XXXX

I don't know why I hadn't noticed.

Maybe I didn't look close enough, though I doubted it. Or maybe I just assumed that because she was sitting down, of course her usually flat stomach would be a littler bigger. And then in the change rooms at the Wedding shop, I'd probably been to distracted by the multitudes of lace and corset ties that adorned both our stomachs to notice then.

The point is, I didn't notice until Veronica Bistel stood infront of me in a skin-tight black mini, hands on hips, accepting my sisters gushing praise modestly. And, when I noticed, they were ready for me.

They knew I'd seen it. The lump where her flat tummy should be. The perfectly round lump that didn't mean too-many-bacon-and-egg-muffins, but a lump that was much more sinister. Much more shocking.

Veronica Bistel was pregnant.

Now, it didn't hit me all at once.

The first thing I thought was 'why are women like her even _allowed_ ovaries?' On account of the fact that they were so despicable they could only ever have despicable children and therefore should not, _ever_, be allowed to breed.

The second thought was much worse. Because in the second thought it came to me.

Veronica was having a child. And that child was the result of two people.

_Veronica Bistel was having Callum Redbrooks kid. _

_My _Callum's kid.

That child should have been in_ my _body

And, oh, did she know it.

I stared at her in shock, at first hardly aware of my sisters gaze. When I felt it, I turned to her, expecting to see some sort of sympathy in her eyes. I mean, even with our ugly history, if her cheating ex-boyfriend was knocking up his girlfriend _I_ would support her. Call her a bitch. Have a girl night and get pissed.

And what did I see in Bethany's eyes?

Not pity, oh no. Even pity would have been welcome.

No, I saw satisfaction. Smug, delighted satisfaction. Total smirk. Right there, all over her smarmy, tanned face.

I wanted to punch it in. Run screaming from the shop. Tear the dress off that bitch and strangle Callum with it.

But I didn't. I willed my face to calm and told her with my eyes that she'd suffer for this.

Oh boy, would she suffer.

"Oh look" my sister said then, brightly, turning deliberately to look back at Veronica. "That dress shows off your …condition…quite nicely doesn't it?" She was all sweet and sugary, and Veronica, the blushing virgin, the knife-wilder. The hammer which shattered my heart. Again.

She looked at me and I saw it in her eyes too. The kind of malice that all Beth's friend acquired after a while. The sick, sadistic look of a tortured soul whose only pleasure comes from torturing others. It wasn't her fault, exactly. Most likely, she hadn't even known Callum had been seeing me when she'd slept with him that first time. Or the second time. Or the third time. And really, I couldn't blame her for getting pregnant to her boyfriend.

And he _was_ her boyfriend. Callum was Veronica's _partner_. They could have a baby if they damn well liked.

But I did blame her for being friends with Beth. And letting her do this to me. And I did blame her for her fake blonde hair and tanned skin and porn-star body that made even happily married men go panting after her.

What can I say? I'm female. Im allowed to be unreasonable.

And I'm now a female whose arch-enemy is pregnant with the son of the previous love of her life.

I am allowed to be downright _incontrollable_.

Veronica smiled at me, sweetly, and then looked back at Beth. "And do you mind if we do a bit of a shop for Susie too? We can pick up the bridesmaids dress's on the way back."

Beth clapped her hands happily if this was the most wonderful suggestion in the world. Like it was the answer to world peace or something. Then she looked at me, concerned, as if she thought she was excluding me about being happy about this _Susie _girl they were talking about.

"Susie's Veronica's first" Beth explained to me, smiling all the time. "Only two years old, such a _darling_."

Veronica's first.

Two years old.

The bullets were fired one after the other, in quick progression, allowing no time for recovery.

If Veronica's first was _two years_ old, and Callum and I had broken up _two years ago_ then that meant that for the last 9 months of our relationship atleast, Callum had been sleeping with Veronica.

And got her pregnant.

And never, _ever_ told me.

And now, oh how it started to fit together.

All those late nights. Those 'business trips'. All the 'strictly work colleagues' parties. All the 'the damn tube was late again'. Everything. _Everything_ was a lie.

Everything about that _year_ of our relationship was a lie, every little moment now insignificant. Callum had gotten _another_ girl, not me, pregnant. Callum had loved another girl more than _me_ for nine straight months. And given her a child.

Veronica knew it.

Beth knew it.

Now I knew it.

I stared at Beth, stunned at the depth of her malice. Why tell me? Why torture me like this? Why tell me _now_, in a dressing room, infront of the very woman my boyfriend left me for?

What had I done, _ever_, to deserve this?

Apparently something very, very wrong.

But again, I only smiled, while I wailed inside, and told Veronica how wonderful it was, that this was her second. And how happy I was for her. And gushed about her dress so much it made me sick.

And all I could think about was getting away, and getting home, and curling up on my couch and sobbing. How could I be Maid of Honour after this?

XXXX

The rest of the shopping trip passed in a haze of catty remarks and baby shopping. ("I'm only a few months gone, but gosh, you can never be too prepared! There'll probably be another on the way straight after this!")

I only talked when I had to, and I smiled all the time, determined not to show how much I was suffering inside. But I felt Beth's eyes on me and I knew. I _knew. _She understood _exactly_ what she was doing to me. Every little barb she sent my way was carefully planned to hit the target perfectly. And every time I tried to defend myself my tongue become slippery and I mixed up my words and Veronica and Beth strolled ahead of me laughing at my attempts at wit.

All I wanted now was Michel with his arms around me.

But I knew that even that wasn't real. It wasn't Michel that was holding me; it was fake-boyfriend Michel. It was my petty imagination that held me, tried to comfort me in all my self-delusions.

All I wanted was for everything to be real. For once.

XXXX


	10. The Break

**Chapter 10**

The moment I walked in the front door, (after diving from the car to the house) Michel knew something was wrong.

Maybe it was my pale face that gave it away, which had frightened _me_ when I'd caught my reflection. Or maybe it was that my eyes were darker than usual and wide with the look of a deer caught in headlights (except this time it was more of the sick look that comes over you if you find yourself face to face with a gun held by a mad-man). And then there was my actual body shaking.

So I wasn't the least bit surprised when he grabbed my hand, shot a meaningful look at my mother, who had frozen by the kitchen bench, knife held high in the air, carrot victim on the bread-board, and dragged me upstairs.

"Okay," he said seating me on the bed and then jumping back a few meters in case whatever plague of bad luck that seemed to follow me was catching. "What happened?"

_What happened?_

Well first, my mother went for a holiday in Newcastle and met my father.

And then they got hot and heavy. And poof! Nine months later, there was Bethany..

And then my life, which didn't even _exist_ then, was ruined.

"Bethany happened," I said and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "And then Callum happened. And then Veronica happened. And then _Susie_…" I trailed off, unable to continue.

Michel frowned. "Who the hell is Susie?"

_Callum's_ daughter. "Veronica's daughter."

Michel's eyes widened "Oh, Christ."

"Oh fucking yes Christ!" I snapped, suddenly furious. Suddenly unprepared to attempt to withhold my temper any longer. "And guess what else happened today."

"What else happened?" Michel asked quietly, with all the trepidation of any man confronted by a furious female who is about to lose control.

"Veronica's pregnant. _Again_." I didn't give him time to reply. "And guess _what else_ happened today?"

Again, I carried on without waiting for an answer. "Bethany, my shit-head rat-faced _ever so loving_ sister decided to let me know in front of the whole store, in front of Veronica, that for the last 9 months of our relationship _another woman was pregnant with Callum's child_!"

"And then," I continued, jumping up and walking furiously around the room, "I had to deal with all their snide comments about that bitch's _darling_ Susie and go baby-shopping with them, Michel! _Baby-shopping_!"

Michel closed his eyes, the pain in his face suddenly bring me up short. It made all the anger suddenly leak out of me in one big _whoosh_, and I was left shivering, tired, and aimless. I stood in the centre of the room, one hand on the bed, the other against my cheek as I fought to hold back the tears that suddenly wanted to pour from my eyes, nose, or any available exit.

"I don't know what I did Michel," I whispered. "I don't know where I went wrong. With any of them."

Bethany. Callum. Veronica.

I'd always tried so hard. Well, maybe not with Veronica, who I'd hated on sight, but that was understandable. But with Bethany and Callum? Hell yes I'd tried. And been disappointed. Every. Single. Time.

Why bother anymore?

And then I thought of Danielle Adams. Fat Dani. The one everyone pretended not to see, even though she tried so hard to fit in. Even _me_, her best friend, had tried not to see her. Was this what she had felt like all her childhood? All her life? Never understanding why people are the way they are?

And here I was, only paying attention to her now because I could use her to ruin my sisters wedding. Make the day that is supposed to be the most special day of her life a terrible memory. In that way I'm no better than Bethany or Callum. And _that_ thought, I hated most of all.

But all this I didn't tell Michel. I didn't want him hating me like he hated Bethany. Like always I just waited for him to look at me, open his arms, and make me feel better; make me feel like I was a good person who didn't deserve any of this.

Even when I did.

And still, when Michel held out his arms to me now, his eyes still closed, face still twisted in pain for _me_, I didn't try and resist. I ran into them, sobbing. And like always he held me as long as I needed, murmuring and rocking me side to side, until me eyes were dry and sore, and I was all cried out.

I smiled wearily up at him.

"Thank you. I feel better now."

Michel smiled at me, and gently pushed my hair back from my face. Then he glanced down at his shirt, which was soaked through with my tears, and grinned. "I just bet you do."

And just like that, I felt strong enough to face up the Dragon ladies.

XXXX

Mum gave me a concerned glance when I came back downstairs but she asked no questions and only smiled worriedly, her quick eyes noticing my red-rimmed eyes, my tired face.

Dad was sitting at the table, quietly chopping tomatoes into thin wedges.

He nodded at us when we appeared in the kitchen, but only informed us that dinner would be ready soon, and we'd better be there, because he'd invited the Cousins, and they'd all miss us if we didn't show.

The Cousins!

My mood was brightened instantly. Even Beth and Veronica's baby couldn't bring me down after dad let slip that little bit of information, which was probably exactly what he attended. Dad was always the more perceptive and more subtle one.

He looked up from the tomatos and gave me a ghost of a smile, as if he sensed the sudden glow of happiness I felt.

"When will they be here?"

Dad glanced at the clock and then shrugged. "Around 7 I think. Marie said they might be a little late though. You know how the boys are."

Mum, standing at the stove and carefully stirring a pot of boiled rice, chuckled. "Early or late, but never time," she explained to Michel, her eyes brighter as well at the mention of the cousins. "You'll like them Michel, they're lovely boys, Anthony and George. Their mother Marie is my older sister."

She looked at me and her eyes grew worried again as her mouth tensed. "Callum and Veronica have gone home, though no doubt they'll be back tomorrow for the second party. And Beth and Peter are in the garden. You can join them if you like."

Since this was very much an order to 'go make amends' I couldn't very well refuse, especially coming from my mother, even though I had no intention at all of making peace. Beth had ruined our civility _this_ trip. _She_ could bloody well make amends.

I took Michel by the hand and dragged him out into the garden.

XXXX


	11. The Garden

**Chapter 11**

We weren't exactly a _rich_ family, but looking at mum and dad's house, you would be able to tell in an instant we weren't exactly short on funds. For starters, it was _big_. Big house, big garden, BIG pool. My parents, and especially my mother, never did anything small if it could be done big, and it was a personality trait that seeped into every aspect of their life.

Like the house for instance. A family home for a family of four. And yet it had 4 bathrooms, 8 bedrooms, an industrial-style kitchen, two dining rooms, two living rooms, and a massive indoor pool (which in my youth had withstood its fair share of teenage parties). Yes, the house was big.

The garden was even bigger.

But not big-grass-area big. With no boys, my mother hadn't exactly felt the need for a make-shift soccer field. So every square meter was covered in flowers, plants, herb gardens and Greek marble statues, all centred around a maze of pathways, a pergola and a massive fountain.

I could feel Michel's astonishment as I led him on the labyrinth of pathways through the garden. Michel wasn't exactly a garden man as far as I knew. I wondered if to him, this was a bit like the Secret Garden with all its natural, wild beauty.

But I had long since stopped being impressed by the magnificence of my childhood home. Especially when every memory was associated with Bethany. I was sure she felt the same way, since we'd spent our lives trying to make each other miserable. This time though, she'd succeeded more than usual.

Beth and Peter were lounging on a swing seat beneath the pergola, a delicate white table next to them the bearer of two glasses of champagne and a packet of smokes. They both looked disgustingly healthy in their sun clothes. Beth in a pale pink dress and a sunhat, Peter in crisp white shorts and a red polo shirt that, I hated to admit, showed off his athletic and tanned Apollo body to excellent advantage.

"Ariana," Beth said while smiling at me serenely, all mild-mannered house-wife before her future husband. "How nice of you to join us."

Briefly, her gaze flitted over Michel, standing next to me. His hand was still in mine and a tiny, sneaky smile touched her lips.

I glared at her, but sat down on the love-seat opposite them, pulling Michel down with me. Peter smiled at me, and then grinned at Michel. Evidently their golf trip had been a success; I'd totally forgotten to ask about it.

"So tell me about yourselves," Beth said with something _definitely_ sneaky in her voice. "I want to know _everything_."

Next to me Michel shifted uncomfortably, but placed a cursory arm around my shoulders and smiled brightly at me.

"You tell them darling," he said (through gritted teeth, I imagine). "You know how I always get it wrong."

I laughed and rested my hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, 'If you insist, my love."

Was it my imagination or did something flicker in his gaze then? I glanced down at my hand on his thigh and winced. It was a little high up. No wonder his eyes suddenly became so bright. He probably thought I was going to force a love scene in front of my sister and freaked out. So far, the most we'd done before family was hold hands and the occasional hug. I was obviously pushing boundaries here. I quickly reached across and grabbed his right hand, which had been resting innocently on the bench beside him, interlacing our fingers. I felt his fingers squeeze mine softly and relaxed.

"Well what do you want to know? There's too much for one sitting," I smiled, turning to look at Beth coolly.

She leant forward, raising an eyebrow "How did you meet?"

I laughed again, "Beth! You know we've been friends for years."

"Yes but I mean, when did you start…_dating_?"

I was sure (hoping) I imagined that hesitation.

I couldn't exactly say: Yes well first, Beth, we got your wedding invitation. And then I forced Michel into coming with me as my date, even though he finds me revolting, because I didn't want to lose face infront of you and Callum. What do you make of _that_? Even more pathetic than usual?

"About 6 months ago," I replied breezily. "I guess it just…happened."

Peter laughed at this and patted his fiancé's hand. "That's the story for us all isn't it? One moment it's normal. You're friends. The next it's moving in together…and suddenly, before you know it, you're getting married."

I was sure that at this little speech, like me, Michel had internally shuddered. Peter had hit the nail-head with a hammer, and made reality what we were only pretending. I wondered if it really was like that. All the relationships I'd been in had been systematic, structured, and in steps, like you were building a DIY cabinet. _First click these two pieces together, and then attach to piece number 3. _

Callum had been like that in a way. So damn steady. Which was why it was such a shock when we broke up. It was totally not part of our daily ritual. It was like drinking a free milkshake and then realising half way through that the milk was sour, and realising that _that_ was why it was free in the first place. And since my stay here the milk had become more sour than I'd ever guessed. I thought of Veronica's rounded tummy, and then quickly pushed the thought away before I lost control again. Why give Beth even more ammunition?

"That's right," Michel agreed a moment later, his poker face in place. "You never know what has hit you until it's too late. Then there's no point trying to turn back."

He looked at me as he said this, and there was something…resignation...in his expression. Like he had given up something without too much of a fight because he knew it was useless. I frowned at him slightly, as did Peter.

"Well, I suppose," he said, Michel's speech being a little more pessimistic relationship-wise than he'd liked, "not that you'd ever _want_ to turn back though," he quickly added, giving Beth a quick peck on the lips, who smiled warmly at him.

I frowned more, felt the crinkle between my brows. Was this the same man who'd stormed out of my sister's room the other morning swearing and yelling about 'getting the day over with'? Since then I hadn't exactly seen them thrilled with each other, until now.

But then, maybe Beth was just in a good mood because as far as she saw she'd ruined _my_ trip.

"Did you hear the cousins are coming?" I asked Beth, when the lull in conversation had been long enough to make the silence uncomfortable.

"Of course. They always come over when I'm here."

Petty. Petty petty petty.

I though of Danielle Adams. And smiled. That was petty too.

XXXX


	12. The Cousins

**Chapter 12**

Anthony and George Lellis pulled up the drive-way in separate but identical cars. They had duplicate grins on their faces and a light, breezy laugh for mum when she scampered down the balcony stairs and into their arms.

"Mrs Wilkins-" Anthony began, teasing.

"-it's so nice to see you!" George finished for his twin, laughing.

Mum chuckled and kissed them both on the cheek. "Still terror's, the pair of you!" she mock-scolded. "Haven't you grown out of that habit yet?"

Anthony had the grace to look bashful, but George just laughed louder and clapped his twins back. "You should see us in the board-rooms," he replied cheerily, "downright awful."

Anthony looked past mum to the rest of us, still standing crowded in the doorway, smiling manically. He stepped forward and shook dad's hand seriously and then ruined the effect with a bear hug.

"It's been too long, boy," Dad said when Anthony released him. "You should come over more often."

"We would if we could," Anthony said, his gaze sliding past dad and lighting on my sister who had joined mum and dad at the bottom of the stairs. Following her lead, Michel and I sauntered down and waited patiently to be noticed.

I saw Anthony's eyes widen in feigned surprise. "Bethany! Feels like I haven't see you in _yonks_!"

Standing conveniently (for her) beside her, Bethany had time to throw me a triumphant see-they-didn't-even-notice-you glance before she was swept into Anthony's arms, quickly joined by George, who gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"And now you're off to get married Beth?" George glared and then caught Peter's eye and grinned. "And this is the lucky man then? What a shame he's such a loser, Beth. I'm sure you could have done better."

Peter rolled his eyes and shook the twin's hands, acting the mature adult and ignoring their teasing. Anthony turned towards me then, and his eyes widened. "And who's this young beauty then? You didn't tell me you have guests over Mrs Wilkins!"

Taking a leaf out of Peter's book I rolled my eyes. "Hello Anthony," I greeted him dryly, "Hey George."

"Ariana, it's been too long," George said quietly, his eyes suddenly tender, the amusement gone. He stepped forward past Beth, and folded me in his arms gently, as if I were a fragile doll. George had always felt a need to care for me, as if I were his sister rather than cousin. It drove Beth crazy.

"Hey give her over George! You can't hog _all_ the babes!"

With a laugh George released me and I was enveloped in Anthony's embrace, swung around with a yell while I squealed and beat on his back with my fists to let me down.

When he did, he turned to Michel who was standing a little apart from everyone else, uncomfortable to be part of such an intimate family reunion.

"Ah, so this is the famous Michel," Anthony grinned, winked and held out his hand to him. I wondered if the wink was intended for me or Michel. Anthony, once he'd come out of the closet, was a ceaseless man-eater. I was sure Michel, my sort-of boyfriend, was yummy enough to tease the hunter out of him, all snapping jaws and rivulets of dripping drool.

Michel's mouth twitched in a smile, and he shook Anthony's, then George's hand firmly. "You've heard of me then?"

George sighed. "For years man, we've heard nothing _but_ of you."

George threw me a look laced with amusement. "And you've finally come to your senses, Ria and snatched him up while you could."

I blanched inside and met Michel's eyes. He was looking at me with an I-told-you-so glint in his eyes. It was harder than I thought, lying to them all.

"Yeah well," I said as I slung my arm around Michel's waist, "Can you blame a girl?"

Anthony grinned and gave Michel the once over, "Not for an instant. If you hadn't, I sure would have."

XXXX

Beth pointedly ignored me for the rest of the afternoon, focusing all her attention on the cousins while they in turn focused all their attention on me. Or in Anthony's case, on Michel.

"Well, we see her once a year at most" George had joked as he tried to placate the obvious jealousy that raged in Beth's eyes. "You can't blame us for wanting to catch up when we can!"

Mum and Dad had retreated to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations, leaving the six of us alone. Peter said little, being the type to sit back and observe rather than actively participate, but he stayed close to Bethany probably hoping that _his_ whole attention would take some of the sting away from the cousin's disinterest. Fat chance lover-boy, I thought unsympathetically.

"So you're a jaded New Yorker now?" Anthony asked as he leaned back against the lounge, thrusting his legs out in front of him. He was slightly rumpled as always with his dark hair ruffled, eyes crinkled at the corners, and lop-sided smile in place. His twin was his opposite: impeccably groomed, smooth and tanned with the body that bespoke regular attendance at the gym. George sat beside his brother with his back straight, legs crossed neatly. "Tell me, do you step over homeless people? See murder scenes every day?"

"I've been a jaded New Yorker since I was 18," I said, "a good five years now."

"And how many times have we seen you since then? Three times? Four?" Anthony pouted and folded his arms. "It would be much easier if you lived _here_ you know, we can get you a job at the company, _easy_."

"Thanks but no thanks." I shuddered. Thinking of living in the same _country_ as my sister was too much. No way. Not a chance. I _liked_ having my own space from family.

"Don't be silly Anthony," Beth added snidely. "Ria's much to caught up in her own life to care about what's going on over _here_."

George raised an eyebrow at me. He knew about the relationship between Beth and I. They both did. Most of the family did, extended family included. But still, this was more obvious than usual, even for her. Peter caught the look that passed between me and George pursing his lips. I was sure that when people told him about Beth and me and all our problems he just thought it was exaggeration. I almost pitied him. He had no idea about his fiancé's true colours, though I suspected he'd feel the brunt of it well enough when they did tie the knot on Saturday.

I winced. So soon. And then _another_ two weeks of family time.

"Well its something to think about anyway," Anthony said, unfazed, and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it even more, "If things don't work out in the States."

I nodded at him, appreciating the offer. Anthony turned his attention to Michel. "And what about you, my lovely, what do _you_ do for a living?"

Next to me, I felt Michel stiffen and then relax. I glared at Anthony for Michel's sake. He was deliberately making Michel uncomfortable. And enjoying every minute of it. George cleared his throat, hiding what I suspected was a choking laugh.

"I work in..." he said while glancing at me briefly, "sales."

"Oh? What kind?" Anthony's eyes had flared with interest. Uh oh. Bad sign. He'd know instantly if Michel was bluffing.

I jumped in quickly by saying, "Actually, he doesn't. I just say he does because I really don't understand what he does for a living and its too embarrassing telling that to people. Its okay honey, tell them what you really do."

Finally. A truth. It was a breath of fresh air.

Michel looked shocked, but recovered quickly, probably relieved too. "I actually work for a museum," he said, "importing and exporting antiques. It's difficult, because there's lots of political motivation behind most of it. And the rules for where an item can be removed to are getting tighter." He shrugged. "But I love it, and I get a holiday once a year to a place of my choice, clientele willing."

Anthony looked delighted. "Ria, be careful now, this boys almost worth trying to steal," he joked playfully (though I suspect that he was almost serious). George rolled his eyes.

"He says that about everyone who's not an accountant," George told Michel. "Don't worry."

Beth, however, was not impressed. She sat forward. "Well Ria, you've lied about his job. What else have you lied about I wonder?" She asked, that sneaky look revealing itself again when she glanced at Michel. Did I imagine the sudden brightness in her eyes, the way she licked her dry lips…seductively?

Surely, surely I imagined it. Hadn't she already done enough damage? Michel must have imagined the same thing, because I felt him shift closer to me and wrap his arm around my waist. It almost felt natural this time, and I settled back against him as Anthony and George kept up a light conversation, bantering playfully among themselves. Their attention was diverted for a moment by some comment of Peter's to Beth, but they then continued with their conversation.

But I hardly heard any of this. I was focused on the heavy weight of an arm around me, and suffering from a slight pang of...longing? Not for the first time this trip I wished Michel were real, that he wasn't my best friend. Just a stranger I happened to meet. There could be possibilities then…I shook my head sharply. What was I doing? This is Michel. Michel! My best friend!

_Stop being ridiculous Ria!_ I scolded myself. _He's just acting! What is wrong with you? This is only the second day and you're already panting after your best friend! Even your cousin is being more dignified than you are! Get a grip!_

I forced myself to calm. I imagined smooth, sophisticated, and unfazed. Michel was my best friend and just this once, we happened to be pretending something more. It was nothing unnatural. Just different, I told myself.

I got a grip. I shifted slightly so I wasn't rested to fully against him. So that his arm was just a close touch and nothing more. And I ignored the way my heart and stomach fluttered strangely. That had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

I thought of Veronica. And the baby. Callum and Susie. Yes, that worked. There it was again, the anger. My constant companion; unfailing, predictable.

Would they be back for dinner?

Oh god please no.

I didn't want to face him _now_.

XXXX


	13. The Midnight Snack

**Chapter 13**

My fears, as it turns out, were unfounded. Veronica and Callum never showed, much to Beth's annoyance, who had, I imagined, been looking forward to her little version of torture: The Family Dinner. The rest of mum and dad's house guests had cleared out this morning, giving the family time together before the wedding, now only four days away.

Michel was seated beside me. Anthony was deliberately placed on the other side of the table with George beside him. They were close enough for conversation, but _not_ close enough for my insatiable cousin to create any sort of mischief under the table.

"Have you always lived in New York, Michel?" George asked in a lull in general conversation.

Beth shot me a poisonousness stare and I smiled when I saw Peter lean close to her and whisper coaxingly in her ear. There was no doubt now that she was furious with me, if she hadn't been before, with all the attention the cousins were paying Michel and me. And _she_ the bride, too.

"Not always," Michel answered, swallowing quickly to answer him, "I was born in Australia, but mum moved to the States when dad left with me and my sister. I only moved to New York City 6 years ago."

"Where in Australia did you live?" Anthony asked, sitting forward with his eyes twinkling. "I went there for exchange when I was 17 and left my heart behind."

This I seriously doubted. Anthony fell in and out of love easily. And I daresay he'd left his 'heart behind' in 100 plus places and with 1000 plus men. George too, raised a cynical brow, but waited patiently for Michel's answer rather than call out his brother.

"Sydney," Michel replied, then paused. "Well, not really. I actually lived on the Central Coast, but usually foreigners don't know the difference."

"And your sister? Does she live in New York too?" This time it was Peter who asked the question, momentarily diverting his attention from his fiancé.

"No," Michel replied shortly. The sudden closed expression that came over his face was a clear warning to stay clear of _that_ particular subject. "She moved back to Australia when she was 16. I've only seen her once since then."

And that one time, when she'd turned up on his doorstep with no warning and no smile, had been to beg for money. _Lots_ of money.

"Why?" Michel had asked her, standing in the doorway and not inviting her in. She hadn't answered him, just asked again, eyes desperate. He shoved 200 dollars at her and slammed the door in her face. I hadn't dared to ask Michel what she was doing in the States in the first place, though from his expression, he well knew.

George covered the awkward silence that followed this statement with a bright smile, and a "Who wants to hear a joke?" and the atmosphere returned to normal, comfortable banter. Or as normal as it could be, with Beth and I wishing death on each other down the table and the rest of the party pointedly ignoring our silent exchange. After a few minutes, I gave up and ignored her too. She wasn't worth it.

XXXX

"I really like your cousins," Michel told me later, stripping off his dress shirt and pulling an old, tie-dyed pyjama top over his head.

I grinned at him from where I sat, cross legged in the middle of the bed, and tried not to stare too longingly at the glimpse of bare chest I was rewarded before it was covered firmly in cloth. "Even Anthony?"

"Yes" Michel replied, pulling down his trousers to reveal a pair of brightly checkered boxer shorts.

This was nothing, I told myself firmly, trying to keep my gaze on his face. I'd seen him dressed in less then this plenty of times, so why was it bothering me now? It wasn't, I decided sternly. He was just a very attractive male and it had been quite a while since I'd had sex. It was all hormones talking.

Michel frowned slightly and hung his trousers over a chair in the corner, then joined me sitting on the bed, "Though he doesn't really mean it does he?"

"Of course not," I scoffed, only half listening, far more interested in Michel's bare legs. So close. Just reach out my hand and…stop!

"I'll be back in second," I jumped up and quickly and scampered out the door, leaving Michel confused on our bed.

XXXX

To my surprise, I wasn't the only one running around in the middle of the night. Anthony was sitting alone at the kitchen table with a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and a paper in the other.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "And why aren't you upstairs enjoying your delicious boy toy?" he demanded, putting the paper down.

Yeah, I thought, I wish. Maybe because he's my best friend and not _actually_ my boyfriend. Maybe because I'm suddenly finding myself having rather lustful thoughts about his bare legs and I needed to got out of there before I did something really stupid. More stupid than asking him to be my 'date' in the first place. Urgh! I should have just brought Gabriel. Then Anthony could have had some fun, if not me.

But I just looked at Anthony and said, "I couldn't sleep."

He sighed. "A romance killer if there ever was one." He raised the hand with the hot chocolate in it slightly, asking, "Want some? I used the rest of the Milo so there's just this."

I nodded and took the seat across the table, accepting the hot chocolate offered and taking a big gulp before handing it back. "Thanks."

"So what's going on with Michel anyway?" Anthony asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

I looked at him sharply, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Anthony answered, "the fact that you _barely_ touch each other. You hardly talk, and you're quite excellent at avoiding his eyes."

Shit. I guess we'd have to work on the couple thing. "And you got all this over dinner?" I asked dryly, trying to look nonchalant. I waved a hand lightly, "It's nothing really, just a little disagreement we had before you came."

"Bullshit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ria, I've seen couples disagree before." He smiled tightly. "Believe me, I've had my fair share. But you and Michel are like…like you're not even a couple."

My eyes widened. "What are you talking about? Of course we're a couple!"

Anthony frowned at me, "I'm not saying your not. I'm just saying that you should have some care for him. He's practically panting with lust for you darling, and your treating him like a _friend._" His face twisted in mock disgust, "Just be careful how you lead him on." He winked at me lecherously. "Or make sure he's well rewarded for this little game when you're alone."

I was shocked. This, of all things, wasn't what I had expected. _Me_ leading _Michel_ on? He must be joking. Wasn't I the one that just ran away from him because I almost couldn't handle the sight of his _legs_? And _Michel_ was supposed to be the lust-crazed one? But I couldn't exactly tell him that. I couldn't just come out and say, _'Well, actually, we're not sleeping together so I'm finding it a bit hard to reward him. Especially since he's made it quite clear this whole situation is disgusting to him_.'

No, I wouldn't say that to Anthony. I loved him, but the boy couldn't keep a secret to save his life, and there was no _way_ I was risking Bethany finding out the situation between Michel and I.

Still, maybe a little bit of truth wouldn't hurt.

I lowered my eyes, as if I were shy, and smiled a little. "Well, Anthony, we're not actually sleeping together. Yet."

It had the right effect on my cousin, whose eyes widened in outrage. "Good God girl! _Why the hell not_? Are you trying to torture the poor boy?"

I can't believe I'm having this conversation.

"Well no. It just…it hasn't felt right yet," I bluffed, hoping I was acting the blushing virgin well enough to fool him. Not that I was a virgin. Anthony couldn't be sure of that.

Apparently he could, if what he said next was anything to go by.

"It hasn't _felt_ right?" he demanded, "what the hell are you on? What, you need rose petals and incense before you go at it? Please don't tell me that's what Callum did to get you into bed?"

Well no, Callum basically just crooked his little finger and I fell into his arms. But I was definitely not going to tell Anthony _that_.

"I just want this to be prefect, Anthony," I pleaded. I wanted his understanding and pleaded with the widest my eyes could go, but he wasn't fooled.

"It's _sex_ Ria, not a bloody wedding. It's perfectly natural to do it anywhere. If our ancestors hadn't gotten down and dirty on piles of _rocks_ and _weeds_ to do it, we wouldn't be here today," he scolded, like a disappointed teacher. "Now, I want you to do this for me. I want you to go upstairs right now, and I want you to get in that bed, and I want you to sex him like he's never been sexed before."

I choked on laughter, and, trying to cover it, coughed and wheezed and choked some more.

Anthony just glared at me. "Just do it Ria. There is absolutely nothing to laugh about. That poor boy must be _dying_ up there."

I laughed again, louder this time, hardly bothering to hide it anymore. Anthony just sat there, a steely look in his eye. I finally gathered my tired body together and I stumbled out of the kitchen and back up the stairs into our bedroom, still chuckling. But Anthony was right. There was nothing about this situation that was a laughing matter at _all_.

XXXX

Michel was already asleep, sprawled out like an eagle across the bed. I smiled when I saw him, laughter suddenly gone. He'd taken off his shirt after all, having always slept in as little as possible, and in the soft moon-light that drifted in through the window, he was achingly beautiful.

With a sigh I changed into my own pyjamas, a singlet and shorts, and crawled in beside him. I tried to ignore the ache in my chest that had nothing at all to do with too much laughter. After what seemed like hours of thinking and trying to block those thoughts out of my head, I finally drifted off to sleep.

XXXX


	14. The Reason

**Chapter 14 – Day 3 - Wednesday**

I woke up, to my delight and surprise, in Michel's arms. The sun had barely risen, and the grey light of early dawn filtered through the blinds and spread across the room like mist. In the hazy light I could almost pretend I was still dreaming. That when I turned around Michel would be awake, and kiss me softly, our lips fitting together perfectly, while his hands ran all over me, whispering sweet love-words to me as he quickly divested me of my singlet and shorts. And then I'd finally get to run my fingers down his soft soft legs, just lightly over the scattering of hair on his thighs, then back up, up his chest, around his face, through his hair…

My dream was shattered by reality when he woke suddenly, stretched, and rolled over, nearly squishing me beneath his body in a way that was not the least bit romantic. All fantasises of tangling, sweaty bodies and smooth skin on skin vanished in an instant.

"Ouphhh!" I yelled into the pillow, where my face was suddenly flattened. "Geroff me!"

"Ria!" Michel gasped, sitting up suddenly and rolling me over, "Oh my god I'm so sorry!"

His eyes stared down into mine, filled with concern and tired befuddlement. I glared at him and sat up, forcing him back, annoyed that my fantasy had been ruined in such an undignified manner.

"I guess I'm just not used to sharing a bed with anyone." He flopped back onto his side, putting his arms over his eyes and, I thought angrily, showing off his arms and chest off to great advantage. There was something terribly disturbing about sharing a bed with an attractive male. Especially when both of you were half-naked. Without even thinking my eyes moved down over his chest, tracing the tiny line of hair that disappeared into his boxers…I groaned and moved away. What the hell was wrong with me? It was like I was a hormonal teenager all over again. I felt like freaking sex on legs.

_Goddamit_! How could he not understand the effect he had on me? It was my anger talking when I replied scathingly, "Then where do all those women sleep when you have them over? On the ground?"

Slowly, Michel lowered his arms and stared at me. His eyes furrowed slightly in confusion. "All _what_ women?"

"Don't play with me Michel; I _know_ you're far from celibate."

What the hell was wrong with me? I was acting like a jealous lover. It was like all the horniness in my blood had suddenly turned to raging jealous fury. He sat up slowly, facing me, which put his face disturbingly close to my own, and stared deep into my eyes.

"What's the matter Ria?" he asked quietly, his face grave.

As quickly as it had come, the anger drained out of me and I suddenly felt weak with its loss.

"I don't know" I replied uncomfortably, averting my gaze. The grey, hazy light of my dream had melted in the sunlight and the room was suddenly starker, more bare with it.

His hand came out, very slowly, and touched my cheek gently. It was unusual for him, all this touching, but right now _he_ was the one who was at ease, relaxed. I could tell by the set of his shoulders, lazy, unaffected, like a dormant panther.

"Is it Bethany?"

No. "A bit," I answered, still trying to keep my gaze away.

"Peter?"

"No. He's nice enough."

"Veronica?"

I shrugged. What was he getting at? Right now all these little problems were so distant to this room, this bed, I had almost forgotten about them.

"Callum then?"

Wasn't it always? Everything came back to Callum. I was so damn sick of it. But it wasn't Callum causing my raging pulse, the strange difficulty I was having breathing. It wasn't Callum who I had to run out of the room when I saw him. I turned and looked into Michel's deep, unwavering grey eyes.

"No," I answered with absolute honesty. Right now, I wanted to say to him, nothing matters but you.

I thought about what Anthony said last night. _He's practically panting with lust for you darling. _But whatever Anthony was seeing in Michel's eyes I wasn't. All I saw was Michel; his cool gaze, always deep with amusement was like the cloudy sky above the sea.

"Is it," he asked, his voice lowering even more, becoming husky, "me?"

Such a simple question. With no sort of simple answer. I wondered what to say. Yes, it's you. Its you sitting there, your skin bare, your hands on my face, staring into my eyes. It's the way you look when you smile, _really_ smile, how your head moved when you toss your hair back, away from your eyes. It's everything about you, I wanted to say. It's just everything.

But I didn't say it. How could I say it? This was all new. Far too knew for _that_. And Michel was just sitting there, so unaffected, so calm. How could I blurt all this out? I imagined his reaction, "_Damn Ria, we're just pretending. This is all just a game. How could you think otherwise?_"

Anthony's words were getting to my head, I decided. It wasn't really _me_ that was feeling all of this. Just the situation I was in. I was emotional, and I wanted comfort. That was all it was.

All it would ever be.

I saw him lean closer, just a little, but it was enough to bring me to my sense.

"No." I fibbed, suddenly panicking, "No it's not you at all."

I jumped off the bed, away from him, and grabbed my clothes. I tried to ignore the glimpse of disappointment and hurt I saw in his face just before I closed the bathroom door behind me. And I tried to ignore that he still sat in the same position he had been in, as if frozen, waiting for me to return.

XXXX

I dawdled in the bathroom, taking my time with my hair, my make-up, my clothes, anything to put off the time when I'd have to open the bathroom door again and face Michel. I dressed carefully, knowing that mum had planned a big family lunch today. All the family, no exceptions. It was downright awful. I wondered how Michel was feeling, knowing he'd be facing the _real_ family. Never mind the Dragon ladies, it was the Aunties he had to watch out for now.

For the lunch I chose a red dress. It was loose, floaty, careless around my cleavage but not inappropriately so, and fell to my knees in wispy folds. It was the kind of material that was both causal and elegant, saved from being sickish by a thick black belt at the waist. I left my hair out to fall around my shoulders and down my back liking the way the darkness of my hair looked with the red. I felt pretty, I decided. I felt good enough to face them all today. Even Veronica and Callum, if they showed.

I fooled around for almost half an hour, and then hesitated for what felt like hours before I turned the door knob and opened the bathroom door. To find the room empty. Bare, stark. Uninhabited.

Where the _hell_ was Michel?

XXXX


	15. The Morning After

**Chapter 15**

Michel wasn't downstairs at the breakfast table when Ria went down. Her mum and dad sat alone in the same space her and Anthony had sat last night. Beth and Peter, she was told, were in the garden. Anthony and George were still in bed ("darling, you know how they are; the day doesn't start for them until 12!) and they hadn't seen Michel at all.

Sighing, I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the middle of the bench and headed for the garden. Any company was better now than thinking about this morning, or last night. At least Beth would help keep my mind off _him_.

As I passed through the living room that adjoined the gym and pool I heard the unmistakeable sound of splashing. I went closer to investigate. As far as I knew, Michel didn't know about the pool. And I never knew he was a fan of swimming. It could have been George or Anthony, risen early before they stumbled back to bed.

But it wasn't George or Anthony that were taking slow, easy laps in the indoor 20 meter pool, their body all sleek and tanned and rippling muscles beneath the surface of the water.

"I didn't know you swam," I greeted Michel when he surfaced. He looked up at me silently and stripped off his goggles, ruffling his wet hair away from his dripping face. He crossed his arms on the edge of the pool and met my eyes calmly.

"Not often and not well. And only for relaxation," he admitted after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

I nodded along like this was the most interesting conversation we'd ever had. "I've heard it's excellent for stress-relief too."

I saw it then, a flicker of a smile. "Yes," he agreed. "That's why I do it. Relaxtion."

I winced then. What the hell was I doing? This was _Michel_. We hadn't had an awkward conversation between us in our lives! I struggled with my next question, not knowing how to proceed, or how I'd be received. "You want to join me for breakfast?"

This time, he smiled for real, more than a flicker. His eyes crinkled at the corners, just how I liked it. "I thought you'd never ask."

XXXX

It was like the morning after, really. The awkward, stilted conversation. The careful distance kept to avoid any sort of bodily contact. The next thing I was expecting was a smile, wave and "so I'll see you around." Trust me; I'd had more than my fair share of morning-after experiences to know the signs.

He opened his mouth to say something. Sitting across the breakfast table from him at Pancake House, I had the horrible, panicky feeling he was about to dump me. Not that he could dump me, since we weren't dating. But the equivalent of dumping me in whatever we _were_ doing. When I told him to eat a strawberry-as if it were the most important thing ever-to stall whatever he was going to say, he hesitated, then with a faint smile, complied. I sighed with relief. I was safe while he chewed.

"I spoke with Anthony last night," I said conversationally, trying to get his thoughts away from whatever he was thinking.

His left eyebrow flickered upwards, but otherwise there was no expression on his face. It made me nervous. Michel wasn't easy to read, but usually I could see _something_.

"Oh?"

"He said that we didn't act like a couple," I spurted the words out as nonchalantly as I could. And just to prove that what I was saying didn't mean anything to me at all in the least, I popped a strawberry in my mouth. And promptly began choking. He waited patiently for me to finish wheezing, and I glared at the tiny smirk I caught on the edge of his mouth.

"Why does he think that?"

"Not sure," I lied. I knew very well why he said it. "Maybe he thinks we don't, um, touch enough. Or something."

God, why was I suddenly as awkward as a teenager? Be mature about this Ria! Just say it; _'so we're not pulling this off very well. I think we need to show them a bit of action if we're going to keep the suspicions off our backs, really.'_

"Really." There was nothing in that word. Just a quiet statement. How did I answer that? He was supposed to say _well I guess we should start working on it. Right now. Give me a kiss baby_. Well okay, so that wasn't realistic. But then, _really_ didn't really cut it either.

"Well," I babbled, "I guess for a couple we're not really, um, showing the signs. Maybe we need to heat up the hand-holding or something," I finished lamely, avoiding his amused look and taking another strawberry off the top of my pancake.

"Heat up the hand-holding?" He grinned, and his grin was very…_male_. Like there was something he knew that I didn't, like he'd just figured me out or something. His eyes said it all. _Yeah babe, I got you all worked out_. I resisted the urge to huff angrily and throw a strawberry at his smug _too_-handsome face.

"Well I don't know," I said lightly, attempting to make a joke of it all and failing miserably on account of the sudden blush on my cheeks. "I'm sure our hands can work something out."

Inside, I grimaced. Where had this come from? This unwelcome version of myself who got tongue-tied every time a certain young man so much as _looked_ at her? I'd been playing the game for years; I'd had enough men that they no longer gave me stomach flutters, no longer made me as happy as a Jane Austen movie and a bar of chocolate could. And now suddenly it was like my body didn't recognise itself anymore. Like I was possessed by _something_ that refused to see Michel as just a best-friend and made him out to be '_something special'_.

Michel awarded my attempt at a light joke with a self-satisfied smile, as if he proud of himself that he had reduced me to this quivering mass of hormones. NOT that he knew. He couldn't possibly. It would be too embarrassing. But then, there definitely had been _something_ this morning, or it wouldn't be this awkward now. And I had not been the only one to feel that _something_, or Michel would have made a joke of it. Something like _'So Ria, I actually thought this morning that you had a bit of a thing for me. After the way you acted. Isn't that just so funny?'_

Ha-bloody-ha.

I pushed away my plate, half the pancakes still on it, drowned in a dripping heap of maple-syrup. Michel did the same and the stretched out his arms either side, as if the whole meal had been a particularly exhausting experience, so much so that he had to _stretch_.

He glanced briefly at his watch. "We better be off, Ria, I'm sure your mum would want some help around the house before today begins."

Today was the nightmare family gathering.

I wanted to say something horrible to him, like, 'well thankyou very much, but I'm sure, my mother being, in fact, _my_ mother, I would know best what she _wants_." But he was right. She'd be stressing enough, even with Dad and Peter and Beth to help her. The least I could do was place myself in the kitchen and chop up vegetables and fruit.

I nodded my head in agreed and stood up. Together, and cloaked in silence like a protective outer shell, we left Pancake House and hopped back in our hired care.

XXXX


	16. The Secret to Survival

**Chapter 16**

The foremost thought in my mind that afternoon was survival; I would have time to contemplate the new, stilted atmosphere that surrounded Michel and I later. Right now as I led him around my parents piranha-ridden garden, all I could think about was getting through the next few hours as smoothly as possible. And with as little 'quality' time with Beth as I could. 

"This is Aunt Mary," I introduced the small, white-haired woman to Michel, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. "And this is Michel, my boyfriend." 

Please please _please_ don't let her ask any awkward questions, I prayed to whatever gods were feeling merciful. 

"A boyfriend Ria?" Aunt Mary chortled, as if this were the most amusing thing she'd heard all night. "Will it be your wedding we're all attending next?"

I was standing close enough to Michel, my arm around his waist, to feel him wince. I dug my nails in slightly to the skin of his waist, and sent him a warning glare. 

"_Act besotted_," I hissed in his ear, and he winced again, but complied, slinging his arm across my shoulders. 

"I only hope you don't have it over in that horrid city, what is it called? Ah yes, _New York_," Aunt Mary continued, oblivious to our exchange. "At least come home for your _wedding_ dear. And I suppose, when you have children, you'll be coming back to London I presume? It's always best to raise them the place you know best." 

My plastered smile withered a little under the piercing glare she sent my way. Aunt Mary was a conservative, and I know she didn't approve of all this 'dating' that went on amongst the youth of today. "It's like trying on underwear in a shopping store" she would sniff, 'it's just not _done_. You take your chances, hope it fits, and take it home. That's the way it should be. None of this _try before you buy_ ridiculousness."

I was suddenly overjoyed that Michel wasn't my actual boyfriend, because I was sure after that little speech, that he would have been running for the hills if he was. Nothing like a pressuring family to kill some passion. 

"We'll be sure to let you know if it ever comes around, Aunt Mary." I placated her, and taking Michel by the arm, led him to the next group of people. 

XXXX

We moved from group to group. The Aunts, who sniffed over him disdainfully but whose beady eyes followed him greedily when we left; then the far more distant cousins, most of whom I hadn't seen since childhood. One even exclaimed with delighted surprise, "Why Ria! I never thought you'd stay in this part of London, I always envisioned you more of a big city girl!" When I told him sweetly that, actually, yes, I had been living in New York since I was 18; he smiled awkwardly and sidled away. Most of mum _and_ dads family was here, and I watched as the two clans eyed each other off across the lunch table. They'd never made a secret that they had disapproved of their respective children's chosen spouse, and the tension hadn't faded over the 30 odd years they had been married. 

The Uncles on both sides sat together in the pre lunch mingling, steadily sculling drink after drink, while keeping a watchful eye open for any encroaching female discipline that might be headed their way. They greeted me cheerfully, carefully enfolding me in tight hugs so they could get the full effect of a young female body against them, and shook Michel's hands with blokey congratulations. "Nice one, old son" they'd wink, and smile lecherously at me. I wasn't offended, since it had been happening for years, and any one of my Uncles would turn into a perverted old man after a few too many drinks. It wasn't a personal thing; it was just the way they were. I actually preferred their simple-minded bluntness to the rest of my family. 

We sat down to lunch after an hour or two of mingling, and to my relief I was seated between Michel and George and across from Anthony and Tamara, the only other cousin who I had actually gone to the trouble to cultivate some sort of relationship with. She was a pretty blonde, with merry blue eyes and a sunny smile, and had greeted me with a squeal and a hug and a mischievous once-over for Michel. "Very well done Ria," she whispered in my ear later, and I only grinned at her, forgetting not for the first time that it was all pretend and enjoying the lucky-you approval of a gorgeous female. 

XXXX

Across the table from me Anthony's face was twisted, as if he'd just eaten something particularly sour and hadn't spit it out in time. George was tense and irritable, but his eyes, when he looked at his brother, were filled with concern. I knew that for the twins, family gatherings were often hard. The judgment of the Aunts was never kind and they always knew best where to sting, as if they had an inbuilt radar sensor. _Hit here for better chance of destroying your victim. _ And unlike it was for me, the Uncles weren't exactly a safety net either. 

Embroiled in good-ol'-boy working class attitudes (which they weren't, they were all filthy rich but liked to pretend), they had no time for a gay relative. The fact that George was obviously straight – if a string of super-model girlfriends wasn't obvious enough – didn't matter to them. They saw nasty deeds in the simplest gestures, and refused to acknowledge either of them. It was a wonder the twins still attended family functions, if it was always like this. 

"Is it always this bad?" I asked George quietly, leaning close to him. 

He shrugged lightly, forcing his face to calm, though his eyes still raged fury. "Worse, usually." He answered just as quietly, "They've curbed the knives a little because its Bethany's wedding, and they know that Beth is much closer to us than to any of _them_. But they're still chipping away quietly, waiting for the best time to strike." 

His eyes moved past me to glare at the Aunts, sitting together and talking viciously amongst themselves, every line of their bodies radiating disapproval for _something_. "I worry for Anthony. Its much worse for him than it is for me." His mouth twisted a little. "After all, it isn't _my_ fault I was born with a gay twin," he continued sardonically. 

But the amusement in his eyes wasn't happy. It was the kind of laughter that comes to you in the worst of times, when you're struggling not to cry. I sighed and went back to my food, very aware of Michel sitting uncomfortably beside me. 

"Is everything okay?" he asked worriedly, lowering his voice. "Is it Beth?"

I felt like crying. No, no for once it isn't my vicious sister saying the vicious things. Beth and I might have our differences (it was all we had, really), but we both loved Anthony and George. I felt sometimes that I lavished the love on them that I wanted to lavish on my sister, but didn't for obvious reasons.

I glanced down the table at her and Peter. She looked calm and collected, but she too, was watching the Aunts angrily. Briefly, her eyes met mine, her lips curled in an acid smile and I looked away quickly. No matter how much we might love Anthony and George, we would ever be allies. Even against the Aunts. 

"No." I muttered back, "it isn't Beth."

And I left it at that for now. It was too hard to explain, and I had a feeling that Michel would prefer not to know about the true extent of some of my family's prejudices. Most people, after all, would prefer not to know. _ God_. The poor man. What had I dragged him into?

XXXX


	17. The Deciding Factor

**Chapter 17**

Lunch finished as gracefully as it was able, and after all the ladies had finished clearing the tables of food and dirty crockery, we went back to mingling. It was late afternoon now and the sunlight was beginning to dampen and die, as if reined in suddenly by its glowing master. The shadows fell across the garden drearily, making the bushes look damp and dark, and the roses take on an almost cruel facade. 

Most of the family stayed in the pergola, chatting idly and lounging on cushioned futons and swing chairs. The Aunts had retreated to the kitchen, with my mother at their mercy. I had the thought to help her and then pushed it away. Mum had been dealing with those awful women all her life, while I would just lose my temper, if I went in there; I'd break the peace, not make it. 

Michel and I stood with Anthony and George a little apart from the others. And I had a feeling that, like choosing battle-sides, having allied ourselves with the enemy (the homosexuals of the world), Michel and I had just made ourselves legitimate targets. The Aunts eyed us with the trained eye of veteran snipers, and I wondered when I'd start to feel the bullets. 

"Why do you even come anymore? It only seems to be getting worse," I said, making sure to keep my voice low. 

When they were younger, I was sure most of the family felt it was just a stage Anthony was going through, like Goosebumps Cards or Dragon Ball Z. They didn't see it as 'natural', and because it wasn't 'natural' they didn't think it was permanent fixture in his system. "Just something to air out," I'd caught Aunt Marie saying once, "We'll let him explore a little, have a taste of freedom, and he'll come back soon enough." Back to heterosexuality, she'd meant. 

But Anthony hadn't come back.

Even after years and years of affairs and lovers and heartbreaks and tears, Anthony still hadn't come back, though I knew Aunt Marie was still holding out some hope. I wondered how she could look at him, and not see it. Love was the same whatever its form and it was love that shined out of Anthony's eyes when he found a partner. How could Maria, his own mother, not see that?

But then, maybe she did. Maybe that was why she wasn't here today. Because she didn't want the other Aunts to see the acceptance in her eyes, and maim her for it. They would see her defection from their battle-ground as a betrayal of what was _right_. 

"They're family," Anthony replied tightly, looking for the world that he'd rather call them something else other than _family_. "And they're the only family we have. We just put up with it and hope it ends well."

I thought of Beth and I. She was the only sister I had, and look at the mess _we'd_ made of it. I knew that Michel would say she brought it on herself. But she didn't, not really. We've both been cruel in the past. I wasn't exactly an innocent. Then I thought of Michel and his sister. In that, he understood as well as I that it took two to break a relationship. Maybe he _would_ understand, if I told him the truth about Beth and I. He must have guessed there was something more than just simple sibling rivalry.

I glanced at George, who only nodded sadly. "We all just make the best of a sad situation, don't we?" Then his eyes shifted past me and his face lightened. "Tamara! Darling we haven't spoken for ages!"

Tamara appeared at my side, looking sweet and loveable in her pink sundress and bouncy blonde curls. I wanted to hate her; afterall, she was everyone's friend, the sweetheart of the family, while I was the Dark horse. But I couldn't, Tamara was too nice, too fun. She drew people to her like bees to honey, and she never left them wanting. The honey was always as sweet as her looks and smile promised. 

She grinned impishly at George and gave both Anthony and he a hug. 

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I actually just came to steal for Ariana for a moment." She turned to Michel. "You don't mind do you?" She appealed to him, and he, helpless as everyone else under her spell, shook his head. 

George rolled his eyes, "Second as always aren't we Anthony?" he joked. "Though I suppose we should be used to it. Heaven forbid I stand between a gossip session and Tamara!"

Anthony winked at me, something of his old self returning. "We'll look after Michel, Ria, don't you worry," he said playfully. "Show him the sights…some nice quiet corners in the garden…" He laughed at Michel's expression and clapped him on the shoulder, "Never fear man, you can put them to good use with Ria later. I wont force myself where I'm unwanted!" 

Anthony rolled his eyes and in an imitation of George said, "Heaven forbid I stand between to _lovebirds_." 

I smiled at him, relieved that he was laughing, and watched as George and Anthony both took one Michel's arms and led him away. George would play along easily with his brother when the times required it, and I knew they'd have endless fun teasing Michel. Especially after what I'd told Anthony last night. 

A little anxious as to the sort of information they'd pass onto my 'sort-of' boyfriend, I let Tamara take my arm and lead me in the opposite direction into the garden maze. 

XXXX

"So," Tamara said, dragging me down to sit beside her on a small stone bench, "Spill." 

I fidgeted, suddenly nervous, Tamara was no stranger to romance, and she'd pick it out easily if I lied outright about Michel and I. I settled for avoidance tactics. 

"Spill what?" I asked her airily, tilting my head back and looking up at the sky as if I hadn't a care in the world. Despite the waning sunlight the sky was still the clearest blue, without a rain-cloud in sight. Unusual for London, I thought, and I wondered how long it would take for a grey cloud and a light drizzle to break the harmony. 

Tamara rolled her eyes, "Please Ria. We both know you're not dumb, and you couldn't act it if you tried. And besides, your face is an open book. You can't hide _anything_ for long." 

Well, I really hoped it wasn't as open as she said it was. Because otherwise I was in big trouble. I thought of my lust-filled fantasies for my best friend and my death-wishes for my only sister, who I'd avoided shamelessly today. No need to hold a red flag before a bull was my reasoning, and until I knew I could face Victoria without falling to pieces, I'd keep the red flag well hidden. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied primly, "I'm not hiding anything."

Tamara sighed, "Fine. Then tell me all about _Michel_. Last I heard he was just your best-friend." 

"He still is." I retorted defensively. Why did everyone jump to the conclusion that just because I was dating him (and we'll pretend for the sake of the argument that he _is_ my boyfriend) meant that he wasn't my best friend anymore? Wasn't that the basis of a good relationship? "Its just like, friends with benefits."

Tamara burst into laughter, "Oh _please_ Ria. I've seen the way he looks at you; it's much more serious than 'friends with benefits'." 

'Why did everyone keep saying that?' I thought grumpily. _I've seen the way he looks at you._ As if my own eyes weren't pouring out with lust as well. Right. It was clearly _him_ who was the attached partner in the relationship. In the _fake_ relationship. 

"Fine," I said; my voice still grumpy, "It _is_ more than friends with benefits. Happy?"

Tamara grinned at me, "Well, that's a little better isn't it? Now, air your dirty laundry girl. I want _all_ the gory details." 

I knew Tamara wouldn't rest until she was satisfied that we'd had a 'girls talk', so I tried desperately to think of something to say that would placate her. 

"Well. He has a hot body." I attempted, and cringed a little. It sounds like teenaged speak. _Oh my god, like, whats he like? Um, well, he's so totally hot._ But still, it was true. Michel was _hot_. Delicious, even. And before I _had _ appreciated his looks, like one appreciates an artwork: at a distance and definitely platonically. Now I was, well, _experiencing_ it. Or my body was at least. Dreaming about it, thinking about it. Thinking about dreaming about it.

_What the bloody hell was wrong with me?_

Tamara looked at me in astonishment, then smiled slowly. Very slowly. I was reminded of a cat that's just found a bowl of cream. 

"Wow." She breathed finally, after being silent long enough to make me very nervous, "You've really got it bad haven't you?"

Woah. _No_. No no no. I was just attracted to him. It was a purely natural reaction to dating someone. Or pretending to anyway. 

"_I do not_!" I said, making my words as forceful as I could. 

Tamara's smile only widened. "Yes," She decided for me, "Yes, you do. You _love_ him."

And just like that, my fate was decided for me. I'd fallen for my best friend. 

Bloody hell. 

And not just fallen, not the average 'yeah, I like him. Guess I could date him' fallen. But fallen big time. Fallen-off-cliff-and-head-first-into-shark-infested-water fallen. But I had not, I told myself vigorously, fallen _in love_ with him (please inject appropriate amount of disgust in here). 

After saying that, I almost managed to convince myself. 

XXXX


	18. The Game

**Chapter 18**

I left the garden a few minuets later with Tamara, still grinning like a Cheshire Cat, to hunt out champagne and orange juice. We found it in the pergola, unsurprisingly surrounded by the now rowdy and jolly uncles, who were red-faced and hazy-eyed. Avoiding groping hands and lecherous winks, we came out from the scuffle with satisfied grins and champagne flutes in our hands. 

I went back to Anthony and George, a glass for each of them balanced between my fingers. Tamara had left to grovel to the Aunts and they responded accordingly with the tight smiles and soft eyes that only she could elicit. As far as the Aunts were aware, Tamara hadn't even had sex yet. She was their little angel. 

"Where's Michel?" I asked with some concern, as they took the glasses carefully from between my fingers. 

Anthony grinned, "Someplace only _I_ can find." 

George glanced at his twin with mild amusement and then looked back at me with a frown creasing his brow. "We don't know sweetheart. He went off somewhere or other."

Anthony rolled his eyes, "What George is trying to say Ria, is that Bethany the Witch kidnapped your dear _lover_." At my glare he raised his hands, palms facing me, and stepped back. "She said it was only for a little while!"

"She said she needed some help carrying out some table cloths, that's all." George added. 

I raised an eyebrow. "And where are the tables?"

Anthony looked confused. "What?"

"She said she'd going to get table-cloths didn't she?" At their nod I sighed. "But for what tables?"

They looked at one another and I put my hands on my hips. "You two never learn do you?" 

Anthony at least had the grace to look a little guilty. "We did try to stop her Ria, but well, _you_ know how she is."

Yes. I did. 

XXXX

I found them in the pool room. I stood in the doorway for a moment, but when neither of them took any notice of me, I stepped back and out of sight. Maybe it would be best to see what unfolds. At least I could get _some_ idea of what Bethany was planning next. 

"Oh, my mistake. I guess there are no table cloths here after all." That was Bethany's voice. It sounded amused, and not the least apologetic. 

"I guess not," Michel said confused. "Well, if that's all you need…."

"No, just wait a moment Michel."

Did I recognise that purring, warm voice? Yes. _"Oh Ria",_ I remember her sayingher fingers playing across _his_ chest_ "Oh Ria stop being so __dramatic__, its not that big a deal."_

But it was a big deal then, and it _was_ a big deal now. It was a _major_ deal. Because I knew exactly what was coming. 

"Did you need something else?" Michel still sounded confused. 

"You could say that." 

I imagined her grinning impishly, walking towards him a little, raising a finger gently and wiping some imaginary particle of dust off the shoulder of his jacket. Licking her lips over the prize she'd caught for herself. 

"I think you could say that, yes. Michel," she whispered breathily, "_I need a man._" 

"Well then, it's lucky you've got Peter isn't it?" 

Did I detect amusement in his voice? I grinned, and tried to imagine Beth's face. Oh, this would be almost all worth it just to see her expression when one of her puppets didn't play along nicely to her game. He was supposed to yank her forward, say huskily '_I will be your man'_, and kiss away all her problems. 

And my existence. 

Clever, clever Michel. 

"Peter's _hardly_ a man Michel," she pouted. "I need…. a _real_ man." 

Did she even realise how pathetic she sounded? How did guys even fall for this? 

"Well, like I said," (his voice was _definitely_ amused now) "Peter looks like he'd do the job well enough, and as for me, if your implying what I think your implying, then I'll have to turn you down, I'm afraid. After all, I _am_ your sister's date, to your _wedding_." 

Nice. Very nice. Remind her that she's a little slut and she could she please keep her paws off other girl's dates? Thank _you_ Michel. Now _I_ was one with the Cheshire grin. 

I heard him and turn and walk away, towards the door on the other side of the room.

I turned to leave but not before I heard Beth call out, "Ria's not as innocent as you think Michel!" 

I heard him stop and turn. Oh Christ Beth, _what now? _

"I beg your pardon?" His voice was icy now, dangerously so. 

"I said; your little _girlfriend's_ not as innocent as you think. You all think she's the little victim. But she's not. She plays the game well, even better than me."

I heard Michel's sound of disgust and his footsteps start up again. One. Two. Three. The glass door that led back to the garden slid open. Then, "Just remember Michel. I might be a bitch, but at least I'm honest about. Can the same be said for your _precious_ Ariana?"

The glass door slammed closed and he was gone. I stood just out of sight, shaking with anger. _How dare she_? How far would she go to ruin anything _I_ have? I almost wished Michel had just kissed her. Now, her revenge would be so much more bitter because of it. And I knew she would try to break us, she had been rejected, and if there is anything Bethany can't handle, it's rejection. 

I thought of her bitter words to Michel. I knew he hadn't believed them, not fully. Even though, in a sense, she spoke the truth. I was much better at playing the game than her. I had to be, because I didn't have the kind of viciousness required to keep above it otherwise. 

But still. _Michel_. What was he thinking now? The seed of doubt would have been planted, oh yes. She was good at that. Little wriggling fingers that attached themselves to your mind and never let go. She was the expert of parasites. The leech who sucked you dry. 

I turned on my heel and stormed away. She was the _Queen_ of the damned leeches. 

XXXX


	19. The Apology

**Chapter 19**

I found Michel sitting alone in one of the more narrow garden strips, seated on a wooden bench with his legs out before him and arms folded. In the rapidly fading light he was beautiful, so still that he could have been a statue. His eyes looked tired and sad; his dark hair was more ruffled than usual. 

"Hey," I said quietly, not wanting to disturb the strange silence that had settled around him. In this part of the garden the droning sounds of the party could hardly be heard. Only occasionally would the raucous laugh of a drunken uncle pierce the strange gloom, like the harsh cry of a bird. 

At the sound of my voice, he came instantly to life, unwinding himself from the seat and standing up quickly with a fluid grace I had never noticed until now. Everything about Michel was graceful, really. His long, fluid limbs; the strange, angular features of his face; the wide-spaced eyes, the grey colour clear and honest. 

I waved my hand at him, "No, let's stay here a while. I don't fancy the party at the moment."

He sat down obediently and I sat beside him, not too close, but not far enough away that the distance itself became awkward. 

"Where have you been?" He asked after a moment. 

"Looking for you."

"Oh."

"Did you find the tablecloths?" I sneaked a glance at his face as I said this. It was creased with worry. I couldn't help the little smile that crept to my lips when he shifted uncomfortably. 

"Listen, Ria…"

"Its okay," I cut him off gently, reaching out and taking his hand, "I saw."

His eyes snapped to mine, "Really?"

I grinned a little. "I think I would have given anything to see her expression when you turned her down."

There. I saw it, the hint of a smile. "It was very amusing," he conceded and his smiled widened. Then he frowned, "Then you heard what she said about you?"

There was something pleading in his eyes then, something that worried me. As if he were begging me to say 'no, I'm not like that, Beth was wrong'. But how could I? She _was_ right. I wasn't as innocent as I appeared. Only this time, when Michel saw the dangerous game we played, _I_ happened to be the victim more often than she. He hadn't seen me when I'd been the one destroying Beth. But how could I tell him that?

And then I saw her, hovering in the shadows, just the pale blue of her skirt suit to warn me of her presence. Bethany, just as I had done, was watching and waiting to see what this conversation would reveal. 

When I didn't answer the pleading in his eyes faded and he shifted away a little. 

"Do you think she knows that-" he started to say, and I could imagine his next words. 

_Do you think she knows that we're only pretending?_ And wouldn't Beth just have a field day with _that_ little piece of information. 

So I did the only thing I could think of to stop his words, the only thing a _girlfriend_ might do; something that would make my place in all this abundantly clear to my bitch-sister. This would stamp '_this-is-my-territory'_ all over him. And well, can you blame a girl for taking the opportunity when it so blatantly presents itself?

So I kissed him.

And let me tell you, for a first kiss, it definitely wasn't bad. He was surprised at first, and frozen under my lips. But it didn't take him long to recover, and then suddenly he was kissing me back, and _oh my_. 

I marvelled at his lips, something I'd never done before. Usually it's all, yeah yeah, kiss them and move on please, but _gosh_. _Michel_. His lips were firm and no-nonsense, demanding but gentle, careful when he moved them over mine but yet there was something excitable about them, something that warned you something wild and dangerous wasn't so far away; that it was, in fact, very well within your reach. 

It was, to put it lightly, the kiss to crown all kisses. 

_Why had I never done this before? _

I was hardly aware when he moved closer to me as I was so focused on the kiss. I was hardly aware when he turned on the bench, not breaking away, and trailed his hand down my spine, firmly bringing me closer to him, pulling me tight against his chest. Our bodies, even in such an awkward position as my mother's garden bench, fit together perfectly. 

The kiss continued, and I lost track of time, of place, of anything but the feel of _him_ against me; his hard chest, his unyielding lips, the silken smoothness of his hair when I ran my fingers gently through it, the delicious masculine scent of him surrounding me, cradling me, bringing me closer and closer. 

And then suddenly it was over. He pulled away, gasping, and stared at me with wild eyes. "Ria," he choked, "I…"

I saw it then, the flare of panic in his face.

"Ria, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean…" He broke off, and looked away, confused. 

I stared at him in shock. _Ria, I'm so sorry? _We share a kiss like _that_ and he says _Ria, Im so sorry? _

I looked over at the bush behind which Beth had been hiding. I knew before I looked that she would be gone. She had seen what she needed to and left. I turned to meet his eyes, saw the regret passing through them before his whole face closed down, all expression wiped from it, his lips now set in a tight line. 

"Save it Michel" I snapped at him, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. How could he? How could he apologise for a kiss like that? How could he regret it so easily? "I only kissed you because Beth was watching. You wont have to suffer through it again, don't worry." 

And I got to my feet and stormed away, refusing to acknowledge that my hands were still shaking, my heart was still beating rapidly, and that the taste of his mouth and his lips and his passion was still burning across my mouth. 

The memory of the regret and panic on his face went deeper than any of that. 

XXXX


	20. The Removal

Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

I was hardly aware of the family leaving, though I knew I must have said polite farewells, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, "see you all next time!", Maybe a smile or so. Tamara gave me a hug, her eyes searching my face for a moment before she kissed me goodbye. I couldn't read her expression. Sadness maybe? Pity? I wasn't interested enough to ask.

I operated on autopilot; my only thoughts were for the kiss Michel and I shared and the look of panic in his face when it had ended.

I knew that Beth watched me closely and that her watchful gaze was sliding from me to Michel and back again. I saw the tight smirk on her mouth, which stayed put even as Peter placed his arm about her and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her smug look spoke volumes. _Look what I have. Look what I have that you don't. _

Yet, I hardly responded.Anthony and George kept close by my sideas we all stood and waved goodbye to the last of the guests. I didn't know where Michel was. I'd never seen him leave the garden.

"Come on Ria," Anthony said, gently taking my hand. "Let's go inside. It's been a big day and I-"

"-fancy a beer and a bowl of chips," George finished for him, grinning at me. "He says that every time I get laid over by work."

I smiled at them both half-heartedly and, ignoring Beth and Peter, allowed them to lead me inside.

XXXX

"Well," my mother huffed, sitting down across the table from me, beside Anthony. "That was certainly a _horrid_ day wasn't it?"

"Completely insufferable," George deadpanned, though the corners of his mouth flicked up a little.

"Absolutely distasteful," My father said, appearing nonchalantly in the doorway after an afternoon of noticeable absence. He took the seat on the other side of Mum, who glared at him. "And _you_ can talk. You ran off to the pool room with all your old buddies the moment I let you out of my sight!"

Dad managed a guilty face, though his eyes were still bright. "Sorry sweetheart," he apologised, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Though, he didn't look the least bit sorry at all.

"Where are Beth and Peter?" Mum asked, looking around. "And Michel?"

"Beth and Peter are on the porch and Michel…" Anthony trailed off, looking at me.

"…is probably in the pool," I finished, preferring not to look too deeply into the reason for him being there. The reason being namely, me.

"Oh well. The poor darling. I expect he had a horrid day," mum sympathised, looking at my father in clear accusation. Clearly, Michel had won hero status in _her_ books for braving it at all.

I thought of the kiss._ Yes, I expect he did_, I felt like saying_. I'm_ _sure I ruined everything for him_. But I only shrugged at mum. "It wasn't so bad, in the end. Aunt Mary did make sure to tell us that we were to have our wedding and raise our children in London though."

Anthony grinned outright at this, as did George and Dad, all three most likely imagining Michel's reaction to this. The featured scene starring Michel and a pair of good quality joggers, a horizon of hills in sight. .

But Mum's eyes just brightened and she sat a little straighter. "Ah yes, that _would_ be nice wouldn't it? And just imagine…two daughters married, and neither of Aunt Mary's are anywhere _near_ it. Well, I don't suppose divorce counts, after all."

The divorce of Aunt Mary's eldest daughter Jenette and her husband was the scandal in the family. Anthony snorted, and covered his reaction quickly with a cough. I wasn't so sensitive.

"It's hardly a competition mum," I said dryly, thinking of Tamara. Aunt Mary won on that account. _Her _youngestdaughter was the sweetheart in the family. The universal fondness of Tamara certainly outweighed two mere marriages.

Mum looked shocked. "What are you saying dear? Of course it bloody well is! How can you even _think_ of letting that horrid old bat get any more smug than she already is? Now, why don't you go get Michel darling, and we'll get some dinner on?"

XXXX

I entered the pool room with all the determination I could muster. I would be cool, calm, collected. I wouldn't be affected anything he said. I would not remember the kiss, and I _would not_, under any circumstances, go any nearer to him than 3 feet. And this had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the little voice in my head that reminded me over and over just how damn nice his body had felt against mine, and how, for a moment, I'd been able to forget the world in the press of his lips against my own.

I waited at the end of the pool for him to finish his lap, ignoring the way his body looked, half naked as it was. Ignoring the powerful pull and stretch of muscles beneath his tanned skin… when he came within reach, I reached down and tapped him on the head before he could turn and start again. He jerked in surprise, flaying in the water, and came up coughing.

"Dammit Ria, don't scare me like that!" he spluttered, peeling off his goggles in an eerie rendition of this morning and glaring up at me.

"How else was I supposed to get your attention? Jump in?"

He ignored that. "What do you want Ria?"

Was I imagining the iciness of his voice? I had better be, I thought dangerously. He was the one that _apologised_ for a kiss. A _kiss_!

I returned his glare coldly. "Dinner," I said shortly before storming away, making my way back to the living room door.

I heard him scramble out of the pool behind me, the wet patting of his feet on the tiles. "Wait! Ria…"

I turned on my heel. "Yes?" I demanded frostily.

"I'm…sorry about before." He mumbled, looking suddenly vulnerable in only his boxer shorts and a towel draped around his neck. His longish hair was wet and dripping. I refused to let my eyes stray from his face, follow the water droplets down his body…

I advanced towards him, so close I could see the drops of water on his eyelashes, feel the heat from his body. "_Stop saying sorry_" I hissed viciously, staring up into his eyes. "Don't you _get_ it? I don't _want_ you to apologise. Even if you regret it. _I just don't want to hear it_."

I turned away again, but didn't leave quickly enough not to hear him call me back. But I didn't register the sudden dawning of realisation in his voice, though later I would, and regret.

I kept walking and didn't turn back.

XXXX

I escaped upstairs before dinner with a mumbled apology.

"Are you sure your okay love?" Mum asked me with a frown of concern. "You look a little…sick."

"I'm fine mum," I gritted my teeth as I wriggled out of her arms and backed away. "I just need some rest is all."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"I'm sure."

"I'll put a plate in the fridge for you if you want to eat it later," she called up the stairs to my retreating back. I nodded, not bothering to turn back, and went straight to my room.

XXXX

Michel didn't come up after dinner. He didn't come up even hours later, when I heard Beth and Peter make their way down the hall to their room.

I lay awake for hours, and still he didn't come. I was asleep by the time he returned, wet and dripping again. And I didn't wake even when he settled in beside me.

He heaved a deep sigh, rolled over, and closed his eyes. And when I woke in the morning, he was gone.

XXXX


	21. The Confrontation

Chapter 21 – Day 4- Thursday

**Chapter 21 – Day 4- Thursday**

I was sure I looked a fright when I finally made it downstairs in the morning. Judging by Anthony's face, and Beth's smirk, it was even worse than it had appeared in the harsh agreeable lighting of the bathroom mirror. I awarded them both a glare.

"Darling, sit down, sit down," my over-caring mother said while ushering me quickly to a seat before shoving a glass of water in front of me. "Here, drink this; it will do wonders for those bags."

_Great. _Thanks. Just what I needed. I gulped down the water and my mother's satisfied grunt at the empty glass didn't help my mood. Nor did her searching eyes as she looked for signs of general relief. Was I _that_ bad? Surely just one night of sleep couldn't do that much. But then, one night of tears and tantrums just might.

Beth, with the impeccable timing of a well-practiced bully, kicked where it hurt while I was still down. "Veronica and Callum are coming over today, don't forget. So you might want…look a little decent, at least. Or look like you _care_. For me?"

I stared at her, shocked. Veronica and Callum after last night's drama. I had almost forgotten about them, which was stupid of me. How was that even possible, forgetting about them? Pregnant Veronica and father Callum? And _Susie_.

"Oh, and I'm sure they'll be bringing Susie too," she said while smiling at me across the table, looking healthy and gleaming and preened. "Just so you know. She's such a doll. You'll just be seething with jealousy for one of your own!"

You're damn fucking right I will, you whore-faced sadist. I stood up abruptly from the table, and seeing the flicker of triumph on Beth's face, forced a smile.

"I'm going for a swim." I told them all politely. "If no one minds."

I didn't care if they did, I left anyway,

XXXX

In recent years, for obvious reasons, I hadn't swam regularly (considering the size of my apartment). The feel of the nicely cool water about me was relaxing, like coming home.

I love swimming. There was no more to be said on it. I love the ache in my muscles as I plunge my body forward through the water. I love the sweet welcome of its icy embrace. I like running my fingers along the smooth tiles at the bottom of the pool and knowing that whenever I chose, I could go back for breath. I like the feeling of control it gave me; I like the loneliness.

It was my escape and today I used it well.

For hours I swam, ignoring the granny wrinkles that formed determinedly on my fingers and toes. I'd long ago learnt as a terrified 5 tear old that the wrinkles weren't permanent. But oh how that thought had terrified me then. _Mummy! I'm more wrinkled than granny and I'm only 5 years old! _No, I hadn't been impressed.

I swam and swam and swam. And while I swam I thought and thought and thought.

I thought about Michel and Callum and Veronica and _Bethany_. I thought how it would be so much easier if I just walked away from it all. Packed up my stuff and moved to the African desert, became a tour guide at Giz; sell my body to rich merchants for a home and food. How much easier could it get?

The very thought of getting out of this water terrified me. I dreaded facing them all again. I dreaded Susie. Not because I would hate her, but because I thought I was going to transform into a cat and scratch her eyes out. Because I knew deep in my heart that I would most likely love her. How could I not? She was Callum's baby. Once upon a time, I probably would have given anything to have Callum's baby.

But right now, I couldn't bring myself to love anything that was tainted by that bitch and my sister.

So I swam and swam and swam. And I pretended that I wasn't swimming in my pool, but in the ocean the British Isles. I was swimming across the Isles to Ireland, and then I was going to claw my way from the water onto a beach somewhere. And then I could lie in the sun and let the warmth soak up my grandma wrinkles. And of course, when I woke, I'd find myself face to face to Johnny Depp and he would confess his love and undying devotion. And Veronica would be safely across the sea.

Yes, that was definitely the parallel universe I would prefer. But when I rose from the water, and inhaled a deep breath of warm air, I was back in the real world and I was face to face with _him_.

"Here," Callum said, giving me a smile of piercing sweetness as he leant over the pool, his arm out and towel in hand. "I noticed you didn't have a towel, so I brought you one."

Well that's sweet. Did you bring me an explanation too? Veronica's head on a stick?

No. Well then.

"What do you want Callum?" I asked coldly, pulling off my goggles and running my hands through my wet hair, grudgingly accepting the towel when I realised it would be much more uncomfortable to stand in my bikini in front of him than to use his damn towel.

His smile faded just a little and I definitely noticed the way his eyes dropped suddenly from my face before he lifted them again quickly. Nice, I thought sarcastically. You haven't changed one bit have you buster?

"You look great, Ria," he said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow. _Play it cool sweetheart_. Yeah fucking right. "Well that's not for you to say anymore is it? It's for Michel to say."

_Where is he anyway?_

Callum shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted to talk to you. About something Veronica told me."

With a deep sigh, I gave in. I gestured to a pair of chairs placed by a small round table. "Sit," I commanded, "And then talk."

And then I hid my granny fingers in my towel and waited for him to start.

"She told me about…about Tuesday."

Ah. "That's big of her," I remarked snidely. I could just imagine the conversation. _So, we totally broke her down today honey. She could hardly handle it. Obviously she's still in love with you._

I looked into Callum's eyes and wondered if it was true. He had nice eyes and he always had. Periwinkle blue and babyish, round and innocent. They were nothing like Michel's though, I decided. They weren't captivating at all. Surely I can't still love him? But didn't the fact that I was even wondering make it possible?

Callum looked away from me and frowned. "She said she told you about…Susie."

Yes. And that you cheated on me for 9 months? Yeah she also told me that too. "Yes." I forced calm. Breathe in and out. In and Out.

"I just wanted you to know that – that it isn't what it appears."

"And how, exactly, does it appear?"

"You're not making this easy, Ria". There was the slightest reproval in his voice, and I seethed.

Why would I make it easy for him? What at all, _at all_, had he done to deserve this conversation to be easy? I glared at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not being nice enough? Did you want me to sugar-coat everything I say? Because I'd just like to remind you Callum, that I finished making anything 'easy' for you _the day you came home and told me we were over_."

Oh I was furious now. And when I was furious, everything poured out. The words all tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. "And now, it seems, I know the reason don't I? The fact that you had a mistress pregnant on the sidelines for 9 months slipped your mind did it? And did you forget the night you fucked her too? Oh wait, that was _another_ 9 months of memory loss. Oh, yes, surely I'm mistaking something here. Surely I should be making this as _easy_ as possible for you."

"Ria! Stop it okay? I'm trying to explain what really happened alright? Give me a break for Christ sake."

There he goes again. Callum the victim. Callum the blameless. I was sick of it. How could I have ever loved him?

"You want to know what really happened Callum?" I hissed at him. "What _really_ happened?"

He watched me warily.

"Well, I'll tell you what _really_ happened. You _betrayed_ me Callum. You betrayed me for nine whole months. And you got another woman pregnant and you never told me. And then you and her come here. And you three, lets not forget _Bethany_, seem to get some sick pleasure out of making my life hell. That's what _really_ happened Callum. _Don't lie to me_."

And ignoring the look of tragic shame and regret on his face, I picked up his towel and stormed out of the pool room, feeling better already. Let him chew on _that_ for a little bit.

XXXX


	22. The Slow Renewal

Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

It's safe to say I avoided everyone for the next hour.

Somehow, I managed to make it to my bedroom without anyone catching me clad in my bikini and Callum's towel. As I made my way up the stairs I heard the sound of loud laughing voices. I felt angry that they were laughing without me. In my misery, I wanted everyone else sad too.

I slipped into my bedroom and closed the door quietly behind me and turned around.

"Good morning."

Michel lay on my (_our_) bed, a newspaper lying open on his chest, his eyes steady on my face. I stared at him in shock, horribly aware I wore next to nothing and that I had no make-up on and my hair was dripping down my shoulders to the floor.

"Where have you been?" I winced at how it sounded: accusing, annoyed, _couply_.

He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge if the bed and shrugged. "I went for a walk. And bought a newspaper," he indicated lamely to the folded paper.

Ah. So we were playing it natural were we? No, nothing ever happened. Just a slight tiff. We were fine. Veronica and Callum were downstairs. We were _definitely_ fine. I'd keep telling myself that until it was true.

"Oh. Good?"

"What?"

I shifted uncomfortably, and clutched the towel tighter to my body. "Is the newspaper good?" What in the world possessed me to say that?

His eyes narrowed a little as he thought about the question. "I suppose," he replied after a moment. "The British tabloids are famous after all."

Right. "Oh. Good."

I started to make my way across the room, stepping carefully over his feet. He watched me go silently. Only when I reached the bathroom door did he speak.

"Ria?"

I turned around too fast. I saw how his eyes rose hastily from where they had been resting in the general area of my ass. His face flushed a little.

"I'm sorry," he started awkwardly. "I know you said you didn't want to hear it." He added hastily when I opened my mouth, "But I, I wanted to apologise for…um…saying sorry. I didn't mean it." His face flushed brighter. "Not that I didn't mean the apology. Just that I didn't mean it how you took it. I didn't mean…" He trailed off, at a loss.

I stared at him, strangely amused. He was so…awkward. _This_ wasn't the confident Michel I'd come to know and rely on. This Michel was, well, was gawky. This was the Michel who hadn't any friends and who had sweaty palms around girls. It was almost endearing.

"Michel?" I said quietly, and his eyes snapped to mine, cool and clear again. His face closed over, but his shoulders were tense.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He blinked. "Right."

I went into the bathroom.

XXXX

When I came out again, he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, literally twiddling his thumbs.

He glanced over at me idly when I emerged, and sat up instantly.

"Ria…you look…"

I glared at him. daring him. But he ploughed on. "You look….._great_."

I stared at him, shocked. _That_ wasn't what I had been expecting. Something like, _Ria, you look pale_. Or, _Ria that dress sure makes you look sallow_. I usually avoided wearing total black because of my skin colouring and my hair. But I'd given up on that today. Still, the dress was flattering, even if it did bring out my pale skin. And the empire waist and bodice were slimming and neat. I felt elegant, and not over-dressed.

"Ah…thank you. You look pretty neat yourself."

And he did. In my forays into the bathroom he'd changed into a casual brown suit, and a loose white dress shirt which he wore opened casually at the neck, revealing the first smooth inches of tanned chest. He looked about as uncomfortable as I felt.

"Thank you." Would we ever get past this awkwardness? God! Why did I kiss him?

"So, ready then?"

"For what?"

_For what? _"For Beth. And Callum. And Veronica. And _Susie_."

He sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said while standing up. He opened the bedroom door and ushered me though. "Ladies first."

XXXX


	23. The Test

CHAPTER 23

**CHAPTER 23**

Well, wasn't it all just one big happy family. Wasn't life just one big bag of fucking chocolates? Rhetorical question, if you please. And then imagine, you pick up this lovely, smooth, _velvety_ chocolate that practically melts on your tongue…and inside, it's as bitter and tasteless as every cheaply made home-brand variety you've ever bought before. The most terrible thing about life, I've heard, is that nothing is ever quite as good as is promised.

I stared at the scene before me and this was the very first thing that ran through my mind. Even with Michel standing beside me, ruffled and handsome, his hand resting gently on my lower back. Even he wasn't as good as promised. Mainly because he was fake, but still.

I looked at my family, these people that made up my life, and all I could think about was bitter chocolate. Except for Dad, maybe. He was just as kind as his kindly old wrinkles promised. His one flaw was just that he was too kind, too willing to see the best in absolutely everybody. And far too stubborn to take sides in the mini-war his daughters had waged against each other for the majority of their lives.

And next to dad on the couch was mum, who was stunning, magnificent, well aged like old wine. Her eyes were still bright with the last dredges of youth. But she was fake too, broken a little inside. She hadn't enjoyed getting older. Still didn't enjoy getting older. In her search for eternal youth she wanted to live through her daughters and neither Beth nor I were inclined to allow it.

Beth and Peter sat opposite them on another couch and both had looked up when Michel and I appeared in the doorway. The Mr. and Mrs. Perfect if there ever was one. Rich, tanned, athletic, smooth in manner. Until you looked into the eyes of Mrs. Perfect and saw the faint edge of cruelty there.

And on the floor, surrounded by pink, fluffy toys, the bitterest chocolate of all, a family scene made to sicken angels.

Callum sat with his back to me, his head ducked down as he listened to his small daughter chatter on about something adorably unimportant. _Susie_ sat in the circle of her mothers arms, dressed in pink (of course), with Callum's blonde curls and periwinkle blue eyes. And Veronica. Veronica, the epitome of motherly brilliance, the Virgin of fucking London, was watching me impassively and waiting for some sort of reaction.

I flatly refused to let my tongue spit poison and grace her with one.

Yeah, I told myself coolly, everyone had some bitter chocolates every now and then. Mine had just come all at once, and were currently sitting all in the one room. Brilliant.

XXXX

Perhaps alerted by his girlfriends lingering gaze, Callum turned around, still seated, to greet us politely.

"Michel," he greeted the man by my side coldly, not getting up from the floor even though common courtesy requested he at least hold out his hand for a shake (which he didn't). Both his hands were purposely limp in his lap. I kept forgetting they'd met before.

"Callum," Michel replied just as coolly, and I felt his hand on my back tense a little when he spoke the name, but he didn't flinch. Which was definitely good control on his part.

Callum's eyes moved to mine and they were as distant and polite as they had been that morning I'd first met him 4 years ago in a little dingy café near my apartment block. There was nothing left of the regret and shame I'd caught on his face that morning, no memory of the heated exchange we'd had. So we were going to play it _that_ way were we?

"Hello Ariana."

Smooth. Almost boy-band smooth. Without the make-up and gelled hair. I smiled at him without any real emotion and feeling a little ridiculous after standing in the doorway so long with everyone watching, I led Michel to two chairs placed beside the couch next to where mum and dad were sitting, oblivious to the under-currents of tension in the room.

"How was your swim dear?" Trust mum to say the worst thing at the worst possible time.

I forced myself not to look at Callum.

"It was very relaxing." I could do smooth. I could totally do smooth.

The silence after this reply was almost unbearable. I could almost feel mum's brain struggling to find something, anything, to start the conversation that had so predictably fizzed out once Michel and I appeared.

So I did the first thing I could think of to divert my attention, and regretted it almost instantly. I looked at Susie.

Okay, so no, under the circumstances it probably wasn't the best thing to do. But she is right there. And she is a child. Sitting in the middle of the damn floor, surrounded by fluffy pink toys, and is so damn conspicuous that if I had ignored her it would have been just too obvious. I wouldn't have gotten away with it.

So I dropped my eyes from the blank wall I'd suddenly found so interesting, and looked straight into her twinkling ones, just as she released a baby gurgle of laughter that made her whole face crinkle and lighten into something almost disturbingly angelic. I couldn't help it, though I did try. I smiled at her. And she, to my astonishment, and I suspect, Veronica's disappointment, smiled right back.

"This is Susie?" I asked, my question directed to Veronica. I was still smiling at that damn baby too; it was like my lips suddenly decided to have a will of their own. And she was still staring back at me, smiling.

When I shifted my gaze to Veronica, I caught the look of absolute love in her eyes as she gently stroked her child's hair back from her face. Proud parent, I thought, silently praying that tears wouldn't start dripping down my cheeks. Lucky baby.

"Yes," Veronica replied softly, still stroking Susie's hair, "this is Susie."

I couldn't ask anything else. And I didn't want to. How old is she again? Ah yes, two years. That's right, my boyfriend cheated on me and got you pregnant. Of course she's two fucking years old. So I settled for staring at the kid with a damn silly smile all over my face, and blocking all thoughts of Veronica, Callum and Beth from my mind.

XXXX

Somehow, during those hours spent in the living room, I ended up on the floor with Susie in front of me, talking to her very seriously about the merits of Barbie Dolls. I was hardly aware of conversation around me, except vaguely noting that after Anthony and Georges arrival, it had buzzed on more brightly than when it had before. The Cousins brought light to our family and made us all make a little bit more effort.

Veronica sat on the floor with me, but she'd moved back a little and leant against the arm of the couch Beth sat on. She looked tired, her eyes heavily lidded as she watched me with what I suspected was hawk-like awareness. Callum was still sitting cross-legged, surrounded by toys, but he was very carefully avoiding my eyes and was currently engaged in a lively conversation with George about cars.

Personally, I had never understood why every male I'd ever befriended had been exactly the same when it came to _Cars_. They loved them. They loved the wheels, the hood, the boot, the seats, and the _engine_. They worshipped them and most females I'd met didn't understand why. But I wasn't in the mood to think about this now, and I blocked the conversation from my mind. I had Susie to myself now, and was slowly coming to the realization that I was completely at the child's mercy, and completely helpless to her whims.

If Susie had asked me right then to jump out the second story window, I probably would have done it. Yes, _that_ was how far gone I was.

"Yes. I do think that Barbie is a little bit over-rated," I told her solemnly and she responded in her laughing gurgle and her crinkled eyes and a playful "_whack_!" on the floor.

"Exactly my opinion to," I agreed. "Just like that."

And I _whacked!_ the floor too. She looked at me with curious eyes, the sort of look that makes you realise your pushing the boundaries of insanity, and then she grinned. I _whacked!_ the floor again. She grinned wider. Amazing! It was our new game, and we fell into it with gurgling enthusiasm.

Later, after I had tired of the game, I sat back a little and finally refocused my attention on the real world, looking up and around me to see if I'd missed anything. Michel was sitting, still as ever, contributing to the conversation only when questioned directly. But his eyes were on me, soft and sad, and the tiniest smile tugged at the side of his lips. I met his gaze unflinchingly, and his smile widened a little. Like I had with Susie, I lost all control of my lips and smiled back. And just like that I knew. Everything was okay between us.

I looked away and my eyes fell on Mum, who was watching me with barely concealed delight. Slowly, pointedly, her eyes moved to Susie. And then to me. And then to Michel.

It was hard to mistake her meaning, and when I too, looked at Michel, I knew he'd caught the look. And looked a little paler around his face for it. But what of it? A little teasing never hurt anyone. Grinning a little, and crawled towards him playfully and rested my chin on his knees.

"Can we have a little girl one day too darling?"

It was meant to be joking. Two best friends pretending to date, joking about having children, not taking anything seriously. Ha ha ha. But his reaction shocked me, and I froze as he bent closer a little closer to me and reaching out, tipped my chin up with his fingers.

"Anything you want darling," he said in a husky voice, his breath cooling my suddenly hot lips. "Anything you want."

And then he kissed me. And _no_, it wasn't like our last kiss. I wasn't about to go making out in front of my entire family, especially with Anthony looking on rather knowingly. But it was a nice kiss. A soft kiss. A lover's kiss. The kind of kiss that you give when you know you don't have to rush anything, because when you crawl into bed together, you'll be getting a whole lot more.

Except that Michel and I weren't lovers, and unfortunately, the kiss, a mere whisper of his lips across my mine, sent my brain spinning off to the stars and left me _definitely_ wanting more. Then he pulled back, and there was the slightest smirk on his lips when he looked down at me. Damn him! I'd played right into his hands.

Which is why I forced myself to recover as quickly as possible, and looking up at him with mock coyness, said; "I'll be expecting a little more of that later."

His eyes narrowed at me, and his face grew solemn again. I realised he was trying to figure me out,. He found me, Ariana Wilkins, confusing. I was absolutely delighted. It made me feel much more powerful, knowing that I was at least confusing _someone_. So far, Bethany had been one step ahead this whole time. Michel's confusion was just the confidence boost I needed to turn around and meet my sister's eyes brightly.

"So Beth," I said to her, smirking a little, "I hear you had some…erh…_fun_ collecting some pool towels yesterday."

Caught by surprise, she could only glare daggers at me.

"Whats she talking about?" Peter looked adorably confused, his good natured face trusting and innocent beside my sisters vicious stare. _How_ in all the world had she managed to snare a man like this?

Beth patted her fiancé's arm calmly. "Nothing darling," she re-assured him soothingly, still not taking her eyes from mine. "My sister just has an odd sense of humor."

And I knew, from the look in her eyes, that I was going to pay for that later. But right now though, I couldn't care less.

XXXX


	24. The Phone Call

Chapter 24

**These are all now Beta read and revised. Enjoy and please read and review!**

**Chapter 24**

_So far, so good_, I thought an hour or so later. So far, no-one had been hospitalised. Or attempted a murder. And even the bitchy comments were at an all time low. Susie's presence worked like a charm, I realised. No-one was actually _willing_ to be an arsehole in front of the baby, so for the most part Veronica and Beth were on their best behaviour. Not that Susie could actually understand what they said or meant, but if having a baby in the same room as me, my sister, and Veronica was going to make life this much easier, I seriously considered folding her up and shoving her in my pocket to carry around with me all day. A lucky charm, if you will.

Still, it was a little awkward. Nothing was ever going to fix that. The entire room was a mess of love tangles. I wanted Michel (yes, okay, I admit it), Bethany wanted Michel (or had for the day), and I once had Callum, now Veronica had Callum. Peter was oblivious to everything. And I couldn't help wondering, after Bethany's little stunt in the pool room yesterday, if _she_ had ever tried for Callum.

If her own wedding wasn't going stop her sluttish ways, why would the fact that he was her friend's boyfriend stop her? And he was certainly handsome enough to tempt her. But had Callum _accepted_? I looked across the room at him curiously, wondering if I could pick out any dynamics between the two of them.

But he met my eyes with a heated glare disguised behind a carefully smooth face, and I looked away quickly. I really didn't see what _he_ was so angry about. He was the cheater in this room, not me. Well, he and Bethany. For about the millionth time in the last few days, I wondered how the hell Bethany had managed to fool Peter into proposing to her.

As the tension rose – with everyone so silent and Susie the only source of distraction for the adults, it was bound to be tense – I saw Mum and Dad shifting nervously in their seats. Anthony and George looked just as easy going and unaffected as always, and they calmly ignored every single person in the room except each other and Susie.

Finally, mum gave in.

"Lunch is ready!" She almost yelled, and jumped up from her chair to scamper into the kitchen. Dad followed her at a slower, calmer pace, with a look over his shoulder at us that said clearly "sort it out".

I raised an eyebrow at him. _I_, for one, had no intention of sorting anything out. They were the ones who had made the mess. I'd just been caught in the middle of it. Or slapped in the face with it. Or born a few years after it and forced to be its bridesmaid.

All I wanted was a deserted island and a lustful Michel at my mercy. And the vision _that_ idea came with almost made me blush. I felt rather than saw Michel lean down behind me, for I was still sitting at his feet, and stiffened instantly, even more embarrassed now. I half expected him to say the words: "I know what you're thinking you disgusting pervert" or even better: "let's find an island and get to it." But he didn't. All he said was, "Have you called Gabriel?"

I blinked. What the hell? Where had that come from? How could he be thinking about _Gabriel_ at a time like this?

"Was I supposed to?" I snapped at him. Mainly because he'd just made it so blatantly obvious that he was a sensible human being and didn't fantasise about his best friend. He'd been thinking about _Gabriel_.

Michel hesitated, gauged the anger behind my reaction, and deciding it was safe waters for now, atleast, plunged on. "Well, no. But it's just, if neither of us called him…"

"Oh." Shit.

"And then, if he found out we'd run away to London together…and didn't even tell him…"

But I didn't say that. I stupidly said, "We didn't run away _together_."

That made it sound too romantic. Too much like a romantic elopement. Which, unfortunately for me and my imagination, it wasn't.

"Fine. We got on a plane and flew away. _Together_. To a Wedding." Michel ground out, looking irritated at my correction. I ignored him.

"In London," I added helpfully, and mentally flinched when I thought about what Gabriel would have to say on the matter, Nothing too nice, I guessed.

"In London," Michel agreed. "Are you sure you didn't call him?"

"Yes. And you didn't either?"

"No." There was a pause, and then "I think you should call him. Right after lunch."

Woah, hold on. "What? Why me?" What had I done to deserved _this_?

"You're better friends with him than me." Michel replied quickly, and with the smug delight of someone who thinks they've won the argument.,

"So that means I have to face his temper? All by myself?" I guessed that was what he had been getting out, but I wanted to, you know, make sure. Because up until this point, I'd thought Michel wasn't too bad a guy.

"I knew you'd see it my way."

"I didn't just agree then!"

"There's really no other way to go about it Ria. You have to call him now."

I turned around to glare at him furiously, and stopped when I saw the smirk on his face. So this was it huh? This was getting me back for the remark about the kiss? For him being a little bit confused about my intentions? Calling Gabriel was hardly a fair trade for _that_. If I had blown up his car or something, well then, I could understand then. I'd gladly call Gabriel _then_.

"But I didn't even blow up your car!" I blurted out, and then cursed my stupid big mouth. It was like my brain started a thought, finished it, and then decided that it would sound much better in words. Which it never, _ever_ did.

Michel blinked, and looked at me in confusion. "What?"

"I'll call Gabriel," I said quickly, to divert his attention. It worked. He leant forward with a satisfied smirk on his face and slowly stood up.

"Good," he said. "Now shall we go to lunch?"

I took the hand he held out to me and he pulled me up so fast that I fell against his chest. I felt his deep chuckle against my cheek and for just a moment, I let myself relax against him.

"Steady," he cautioned laughingly, "Wouldn't want you _falling_ for me."

But even as his arms came around me to hold me close, I stepped back, and instantly missed the warmth.

"I cannot believe you just said that."

"Said what?" He looked confused again. _Adorable_.

"That I'm falling for you! That has to be the worst-"

"-pun?"

"Yes, pun! What would even _possess_ you to say something like that?" I demanded. Even though I wasn't actually angry. I was actually very amused. If only because it was so _Michel_ to say something like that. It was goofy, nerdy Michel all over again. It was nice to know _that_ Michel still existed. Even if I enjoyed the hard muscles of this Michel's body a lot more.

Michel rolled his eyes at me and made no attempt to answer. He just took my hand again and led me out of the empty room. I hadn't even noticed the others leaving.

And it devastated me that this, Michel leading me from the room, his hand firm around my own, felt so damn _right_.

I had the feeling that when the three weeks and our own little escapade were up, I wouldn't want Michel and I going back the way we were. And even now, even as Beth got nastier and Susie had showed up and Veronica was acting blissfully in love, I found myself wishing the three weeks drag on longer than they should. I had really got it bad.

XXXX


	25. The Meaning of Truth

Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

I called Gabriel right after lunch. I went to the study to make the call, not really wanting anyone to overhear my conversation on the hall phone. Especially if it got more verbally violent than I was planning on letting it. And you never knew with Gabriel. One minute he was happy and carefree, the next a moody, temperamental arsehole.

Michel, being the coward that he was, made no move to follow me into the study. He watched me go with that damn smirk on his face and only laughed when I'd requested emotional support, if not verbal.

"There is no way in hell you are getting me on the phone with Gabriel. He's _your_ friend."

Which wasn't strictly true. Though it probably suited his purposes to let me believe that tonight. We three were all close; Michel and I just happened to be closer than either of us were to Gabriel. But we had spent many nights getting drunk in his penthouse apartment. Gabriel was from a rich family and had a rich job. And Michel and I had no qualms about using his money shamelessly for our own entertainment. Neither did Gabriel, for that matter.

I figured he was a lonely guy, having suffered from a series of bad relationships. I knew that Anna, an acquaintance of mine and one of his friends, had spent years trying to set him up with a girl and prove all the good things a _woman_ could do for him. Gabriel went along with it because he liked Anna, but it never changed his bitter attitude about his own love-life, and none of the females Anna set him up with were inclined to deal with a moody male if they weren't going to be getting sex out of it.

Which left Gabriel even more bitter than before. And because of that, he wasn't so sweet on being left out on any big plans. Like Michel and I flying off to London for three weeks. And not telling him or ringing him, until now.

He answered the phone on the first ring. "Hello," he greeted me in a smooth cultured voice, "Gabriel here."

"Gab! Hey!"

There was silence. Then, "Oh, I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I winced. "Is this a bad time?"

Gabriel sighed, and I almost felt his resentment slide down the phone line toward me. "Not particularly. I really don't have a life so I don't see how you could think to possibly interrupt _anything_."

"Look, Gab…"

Another sigh. "Don't bother Ria. We both know why you called. You're sorry; I'm sorry, okay fine. Now, I do have company so-"

"-Don't hang up!"

"What is it Ariana?"

"Who's there?" I asked him brightly, instead.

"A girl. You wouldn't know her."

Oh. Ouch. I heard masculine laughter drift through the phone-lines.

"That didn't sound like a girl to me!" I said, still bright, still bubbly.

"Its Jared okay?" he sounded exasperated.

Jared was his elder brother and the darkling of the family. Mainly because he was straight.

"Jared and Lyssa are here and yes you are interrupting something and no I'm really not too worried about you and Michel fucking off to London the moment I turned my back."

"Oh," I said in a small voice. "Well then, I guess, um, we'll see you when we get back."

There was a silence as I prepared to hang up the phone. I hated leaving on a bad note, but if Gabriel really didn't want to talk then I wasn't going to push him. But he caught something in my voice; he must of, because the next moment he sighed again.

"Tell me, Ria. What's wrong?"

Tell him what's wrong? And release all my burdens on him when he was the one hurting? I didn't think so.

"No, really. I'm fine. I was just calling to check in." I said, wincing a little when I recognised the defensiveness in my voice and hoping he wouldn't notice it.

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"I said, that's bullshit. I can tell something's wrong Ria, I know you too well. We went to Uni together remember? I know what you sound like when you're about to have a break down."

"I am _not_ about to have a breakdown." I said indignantly, even more defensive now. Only now, I really _was_ defensive, not just trying to hide something. As if I would let Beth get to me that much!

"Fine. Then tell me what's wrong," Gabriel snapped impatiently.

I gave in. "Michel and I are in London."

"I gathered that." Gabriel's voice was dry, still impatient.

"No, _Michel_ and _I_ are in London." I tried to clarify, without actually saying the words. The words I knew would send Gabriel into fits of laughter.

"Ria please. I'm hardly in mood for cryptic remarks."

I gave in, again. "I kissed Michel."

The silence then was almost touchable. "You lucky _lucky_ girl," Gabriel said finally, in that low, purring drawl of his. It was a voice he worked on for theatre. The voice that made the female characters swoon and fall into his waiting arms.

"Well. I wouldn't say that," I replied, quickly. Too quickly. Because I _felt_ lucky. Because those kisses, even if they were fake, had been incredible. But that was just thing though, they were fake. Fake!

"And why, for all the heaven and earth, are you not lucky for kissing one of the most attractive creatures that have ever walked this planet?"

"Because, um, well, it was pretend."

"Did I mistake something? Did you run away to Broadway instead of your bitch-sisters wedding?"

"No. I mean, we're pretending. To be boyfriend and girlfriend. And we sort of had to kiss. At some point."

Gabriel laughed delightedly, and I waited patiently for him to stop. "Ria darling, how do you manage to get yourself in these sort of predicaments time and time again?"

"I've never done _this_ before."

"Too true." He still sounded amused, damn him.

"There's something else…" I said, hesitating a little over the words. I didn't exactly want more to give Gabriel more teasing ammunition, but it felt good to actually tell someone the truth.

"Can I hedge a guess?"

I didn't answer him, knowing he would anyway.

Gabriel paused for a moment to think. "The reason," he said after a moment, "that you and Michel are _pretending_ to date is because it's your sisters wedding. And someone happens to be there who you want to make jealous."

Damn. Was I that obvious?

"Maybe." I sighed. "But it still doesn't change the fact that I kissed Michel."

"Wait, did you kiss Michel or did Michel kiss you?" There was definite interest in Gab's tone now. And he sounded more patient. I took that as a good sign.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just answer the question Ria."

"Um…I kissed him first. Because Beth was watching. And then he _kissed_ me." And what a fucking lovely kiss it was, I thought, trying to dispel all those lovely images and feelings from my mind. How was it even possible he affect me this much when he wasn't even in the room?

"And what was it like?"

"I beg your pardon?" Okay, so sure I had turned to Gab for help, but did he really want to know all the gory details?

"The kiss, what was the kiss like?"

Okay, so maybe he did. "Erm…passionate. I guess. It was pretty hot." I had no other words to describe it. There was no way to describe that kiss. Or nothing in the English language anyway. I was sure that French or Italian wouldn't go so badly. They weren't called the Languages of Love for no reason. Or in this case, languages of sex.

"Well. There we are."

"'There we are' what?" How could he possibly get any sort of understanding out of those words when I even couldn't? I had been _in_ the kiss and I still didn't understand it!

"It wasn't fake, Ria."

"What are you talking about? I just told you-"

Gabriel interrupted me before I could finish the sentence. "Yes, so you kissed him to make a point to the hag, but Ria, if it was fake, it wouldn't have been passionate. There is no way you can fake passion. Not if it was real passion anyway."

I thought of that night. His long, hard body against my own, his hands trailing down my spine, just lightly, just the tips of his fingers, making me wonder what it would feel like if he trailed those hands other places. And then, when we pulled away, that wild look in his eyes…

Was that real passion? I sure hoped so, because I don't think I could survive the real thing if _that_ wasn't it. It would make my body burst with heat.

"Ria, Michel's liked you for a long time now."

_That_ got me out of my fantasies. "What are you talking about?"

"He's liked you for ages. Anyone can see that. Anyone not blind, anyway." Impatient Gab was back, and now he sounded exasperated, tired. I heard another burst of laughter from his end of the phone-line and smiled when I recognised Jared's laugh. He had an amazing laugh, loud and deep-bellied, addictive.

_Okay, back on topic Ria, one guy at a time. _

"He has not. Michel? Like me? You've got to be joking." Of course he was joking. This was just gab's way of getting back at me for the London thing.

Then came another burst of laughter in the background. This one feminine, followed by a shout. The phone crackled for a little, and then Gabriel was back, his voice impatient, mid-sentence. "-get your eyes checked, because I sure don't have time to stroke your ego. Now, I really must go, and call soon okay? I want to know how it all turns out. And if you haven't slept with him by the time you guys get on that plane back to the US I'll be just as angry about this whole London adventure as I was 5 minutes ago."

And then he hung up. I sat in shocked silence. Michel _liked_ me? Surely not. Surely I wasn't that blind. I would know, right, if Michel had any feelings for me? And he said it himself; this whole pretend date thing revolted him? Gabriel must be wrong. He _must_ be.


	26. The Mission

Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

When I stumbled out of the study, still a little shell-shocked by Gabriel's revelations, (please tell me why its is always everyone ELSE telling me how much Michel likes me and not the man himself), Michel was still sitting in the kitchen, only now he was alone.

"Callum and Veronica just left," he answered my wordless query. "Anthony and George were sent out to shop, and your sister and her pity-worthy fiancée are upstairs."

I sighed and poured myself a glass of water.

"How was Gabriel?"

I was in the process of bringing the cup to my lips when I halted, looked at it considerately, and decided it probably wasn't the best time to attempt a drink. Not with so many lovely opportunities for awkward questions about what Gab and I had talked about. I set the cup down on the bench and turned around.

"He was fine," I said cautiously and tried not to think about how totally unfair it was that men like Michel could so damn _sexy_ without even trying. All he had to do was just sit there with his arms folded and he was suddenly God's gift to woman-kind.

"You were in there for a while."

"Was I?" I asked him innocently. A little too innocently. Michel's eyes narrowed.

"He's not mad?"

"Of course he's mad," I snapped instantly. "What else would he be?"

"But he didn't hang up on you?"

"Erm…no."

Michel raised an eyebrow. "That sounds very unlike Gab to me."

I winced a little inside. Why couldn't I be a normal person and just pretend? I managed to lie to everyone else. Why as it so damn hard with Michel? _Because you keep getting distracted by how hot he is_, a little voice whispered to me. My sensible side was quick to bash _that_ little opinion into oblivion. Especially with Michel looking at me like he knew all too well what I was thinking.

"Yeah," I murmured, turning around and picking up my glass of water just because it was something to do. "I thought that too."

Michel sighed but he didn't try to pry anything else out of me. He was probably just relieved that Gab wasn't angry. Just looking out for personal safety. An angry Gabriel, despite the angelic name, was a demon-child from hell. If you ever actually pushed him that far. Which is what Michel and I usually tried to avoid. Why the hell hadn't either of us thought of Gabriel before we "fucked off to London" as Gab had put it? Well, I was too pre-occupied with the bitch-queens and Callum. But still, _Michel_ could have remembered. What on earth had he been pre-occupied with? Other than the amount of t-shirts he was going to pack?

"Ariana?"

Mum appeared in the doorway, looking apologetic and flustered. "I'm terribly sorry, but do you think you could pop down to _Strip Off_ for Beth? She was just trying on her stockings and shoes for Saturday and she ripped down the whole stocking!"

Oh Lord. Stop the whole world. Why did I always get stuck running all the errands? I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was almost 4. Plenty of time, still, damn it.

"Couldn't it just wait for tomorrow?"

My mum shook her head, her dark bouncing about her. "Tomorrow's Friday! _Friday_! We'll take the entire day to finish preparations! There'll be no time tomorrow!" She looked at me as if I needed a psyche ward for even suggesting this.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

Mum beamed at me, and handed me a tag. "This is the exact colour, size, and type. Don't get anything different. _It must be exactly this_." She tapped the tag pointedly just in case I didn't understand.

I rolled my eyes again and sighed. "Got it." I picked up the keys to our hired car and my purse. "Need anything else while I'm out?"

Mum shook her head and rushed me out the door.

XXXX

I hadn't even realised Michel had followed until I got in the car, turned it on, and he climbed into the passenger seat.

I glanced at him. "You're coming?"

He arched an eyebrow at me. "No, I'm just sitting in the car for my own amusement," he replied acidly.

I refrained from commenting. I deserved that. Still, I thought, pulling out from the curb and turning a sharp left at the next street, it would be a bit uncomfortable, you know, shopping in _Strip Off_ with him. Especially considering the sort of fantasies my imagination had been graciously supplying me with lately. In which any of the clothing items available in _Strip_ _Off_, stockings included, would fit the part quite nicely.

I couldn't help it, I shivered. And Michel immediately leant forward and flicked on the heater. Damn him! Why did he have to be goddamn perfect? All the fucking time! So I'm cold. So what does he do? He flicks on the fucking heater! Why couldn't he, for once, forget to be gentlemen and be a selfish bastard instead? _Why did he have to make it so damn easy to love him? _

Woah. Did I just say love? Shit. And then, _and then_, Michel leant forward again and flicked on the radio. And guess what song came up? _I was made for loving you baby. _

I swerved a sharp right, and ignored Michel when he raised that damn eyebrow at me again.

_He_ wasn't the one suffering unrequited love was he? _He_ wasn't the one having lustful fantasies 24/7 was he? _He_ wasn't the one who actually wanted the next two weeks to drag on as long as possible just to spend more time with him _was he_?

I had every damn right to swerve this car as much as I possibly could. I had every right to be as damn unreasonable as I bloody well liked.

Damn Gabriel.

Damn Tamara.

Damn Strip Off and their lustful lingerie.

I flicked the radio station off moodily and turned onto the main road. We sat in silence for a few, tense minutes. Then, "Want to tell me what's going on?"

I glared at the road ahead. The damn traffic lights had turned red. "There's nothing wrong," I bit out, braking the car before I rear ended the car in front of us. Through their rear view mirror I saw the driver shoot me an annoyed glance. I barely resisted the urge to poke my tongue out him.

"Right."

How could anyone possible make one word sound so incredibly condescending?

"Of course there's nothing going on," he continued in a perfectly amiable voice. "You're just driving like you're in a high speed chase and almost ramming the rear end of a car for fun."

I shifted in the seat, and stared at the lights. _Green. Green. Green_, I heard myself chanting in my head. The car was suddenly too stuffy. There were too many things going on in here. Too much. It was full with just me and Michel in it. And _Love_. Two's company, threes a crowd, I thought angrily. And Love was definitely crowding me.

I did not love my best friend! I'd just fallen for him. A little too hard. Michel was still waiting for my answer.

"Maybe I am," I finally said petulantly. "Maybe I like speeding." Right. Real mature there Ria, I scolded myself. Really adult-like.

"You want to know what _I_ think is wrong?" Michel asked me, calmly ignoring my previous comment.

What the fuck was with the red lights in this city?

"_I_ think that you're confused."

"Really."

"_I_ think you're confused about your feelings."

Oh. Shit. The light turned green and as soon as the car in front had accelerated off, I pressed down on the accelerator and tried to pretend he hadn't just said that. Did he know? Was it possible? How could I have been so obvious damn it? It was the kiss, I decided. I never should have kissed him. Oh God, he's going to think I'm a complete loser, I thought. Some sort of desperate female who can't even get a real date. She has to get a PRETEND one.

I could just imagine the conversation right now:

_**Michel: **__Look, I'm really sorry; this was all just a dreadful mis-understanding.___

_**Me: **__But what about the kisses?_

_**Michel: **__What they have to do with any of this? You practically threw yourself on me! _

_**Me: **__But I thought you liked me._

_**Michel: **__Whatever gave you that idea? You're my best friend! You're not even a girl to me!_

Okay. So maybe I was over-analysing this just a LITTLE. But still.

"Did you hear me Ria?"

His voice, exasperated, breaks me out of the conversation scene in my head just as I pull into the shopping car-park.

I glance over at him. "No."

He rolled his eyes. "I said that I think you're confused about your feelings."

Oh. "I heard that," I assured him grumpily.

"About Callum."

Wait, what? Callum hadn't even entered my mind!

I found a parking spot and instantly pulled into it, switched off the car, and turned in my seat to face Michel.

"You think I'm confused about my feelings for Callum," I repeated back to him, slowly, so he didn't miss anything.

He met my eyes. "Yes."

The nerve of that man!

"Michel, I'm not upset about _Callum_." I didn't even bother to hide the disgust in my voice.

He frowned a little, but didn't break my gaze. "Then what _is_ wrong?"

Oh no. Oh no. This had a little too much parallel to our other conversation that went along these lines. The one where we'd been in bed together. Half-naked. And then I'd run into the bathroom. I wasn't getting into _this_ again.

"Nothing," I replied tightly and quickly. And before he could protest I jumped out of the car and was waiting impatiently for him to do the same. By the angry look in his eye, he wasn't finished with the topic yet.

I held up my hand before he could say anything. "Not now, Michel. Please."

And when he closed his mouth and didn't attempt to break the silence, I locked the car and led the way into the shopping centre.

XXXX


	27. The Hand Cuffs

Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

If there was ever a time for the earth to open beneath me and swallow me whole, this was it. I would even promise not to scream, or anything. I'd just go right in. Dive right in, actually. I would be happy to go. And all because the moment Michel and I entered _Strip Off_, the first words out of the sale girl's mouth were, "How are you today? We have some specials on the kinky items today, if you're interested."

Before we could draw in a breath and snap our jaws shut, she pulled out a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and said, "And this is a free sample, if you'd like them."

And she winked at us. She _winked_ at us. And all I could do was stand there stupidly while she handed them to me with a naughty smile, while my imagination ran wild and grabbed my mind among with it. Because right at the moment, I wasn't seeing the sale-girl smile at me again and say 'well, have a look anyway.' Oh no. I was seeing Michel spread out on a bed, every inch of him bathed in moonlight and sweat, and the hand-cuffs in my hand, just as they are now, ready to be used.

And I don't know what _Michel_ was thinking that made him speechless as well, but he seemed to recover the same time as me, because we both turned to look at each other, and then look away just as hastily. And then we both blushed. So yes, I wanted to die.

The sales-girl, in her perky little midriff top, just smiled at us guilelessly. I wondered if the hand-cuffs would fit around her neck and if I had the strength to strangle her with them.

Michel, beside me, and still with the tinge of blush on his cheeks, cleared his throat pointedly. "We're actually just here for a pair of stockings," he muttered in an embarrassed male voice that would normally amusing as long as you're not embarrassed right along with them.

And I guess it was kind of amusing. A male as tall and strong as Michel cowled and furiously blushing by the sight of a pair of pink fluffy hand-cuffs. Not that I could really talk. And neither of us were exactly virgins.

Yet, I knew what I had been thinking to make me blush, but what on earth had _he_ been thinking? I was sure I'd never seen Michel blush. Or at least, not in the last two years. And why would he blush when he looked at me, unless I featured in _his_ imaginary fantasy?

Just thinking about _that_ made me blush again. The sale-girls, completely oblivious to the tension and awkwardness that suddenly encompassed both us, just smiled and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Our stocking range is right over here," she told us happily, and led the way.

XXXX

I don't think I've ever felt more relieved in my life than when we finally left the shopping centre and jumped back in the car. Until, at least, I realised that I was _in_ the car. With _Michel_. And no-one else. The tension in the atmosphere fired up a few notches after I realised that.

"Well," Michel finally said, "I suppose she was working on commission."

He was referring to her insistence on buying at least 3 different styles of skimpy lingerie. As well as another pair of handcuffs.

"Half price," she'd chirped happily. "And 75 off on whips!"

I glanced down at the fluffy hand-cuffs in my hand and blushed again. _Again_.

'I think one is enough,' Michel had told her gruffly, though his face, this time, was its usual smooth coffee. And then he had firmly walked towards the counter, stockings for Beth gathered protectively before him like some sort of shield.

Michel flicked the key in the ignition (he hadn't let me drive on the way back) and carefully backed out of the car park.

"I suppose she was," I agreed solemnly, trying not to crack smile or to blush. For what must be the 50th fucking time today.

Who knew underwear shopping, not even underwear shopping, just shopping in an underwear _store_, could be so uncomfortable? Not me. And I sure as hell wouldn't have believed it until today.

And I would have scoffed at anyone who told me it was. And now, there was no way in hell I was ever going to repeat that experience again willingly. It was _Best and Less_ for _my_ underwear now.

"So…um…do you still have them?"

I turned my head to stare at Michel incredulously. He was asking me that? _Now_? Were the wounds to our dignity not fresh enough for him? Did he actually want to re-live the experience?

"You mean the hand-cuffs?" I asked just to check if that was what he was talking about.

He stared steadily at the road. "Yeah."

I fished them out of the pocket of my coat and waved them limply in front of his face. They clattered against each other, breaking the heavy silence.

"Right here," I said, pausing. "Why?"

I asked him because I was curious. I wasn't expecting him to be like 'I want to put them to use later on' or anything. Although that would nice. And extremely agreeable.

So when he said, "I thought they might come to use later," I almost choked.

"_What_?!" I spluttered. Had all my dreams come true? Had God finally realised all my fantasies and made them happen?

He glanced at me, his grey eyes, as always, deeply amused. "I was _joking_ Ria," he laughed.

And in that moment, he squashed all my hopes. Which had been flying rather high, and twittering madly with the promise of sex. They crash-landed rather cruelly around my feet.

"Oh," I said my voice carefully monotone. I shoved the hand-cuffs back in my pocket and turned to stare out the window.

"I was just curious is all."

Right. Curious. Dickhead.

XXXX

Anthony and George had already returned home from their grocery shop when we drove up and greeted us on the porch, a cigarette hanging out both their mouths.

"Charming," I greeted them dryly and firmly pushed Michel past them, ignoring his protests that he hadn't succumbed to temptation for months now.

"No need to tempt fate," I advised him lightly and pushed him into the kitchen.

Mum was standing over the cooking pot, stirring angrily. She looked harried and annoyed and her usually perfect hair was frizzled at the ends. She turned around when we entered and smiled with relief.

"Thank god you're back. I didn't expect you to take so long," she breathed out, hurrying forward to take the bag from Michel's hand and setting it on the bench.

"Here, let me take your coats, sit down sit down, dinner will be ready in a moment."

She pulled our coats off our backs, and folded them over her arm, ready to carry them into the entrance way.

I watched it all as if in slow motion. And both Michel and I winced visibly when the hand-cuffs fell with an audible clatter onto the floor. Anthony, who had just entered the kitchen, burst out laughing. For the second time that day, I wanted to die.

"Ria! Who knew!" he exclaimed, delighted and clapped his hands. He bent down the fished the hand-cuffs up from the floor, dangling them from his finger and holding them up out of my reach, so they caught the light. I glanced at Michel; he looked mortified and flushed.

"It's not what you think," I said, hurrying forward to try and grab them from Anthony's hand. I was a tall girl, but he was even taller and he held them easily out of hands.

"Oh really?" Anthony teased, "So you weren't out having hot sex in your rented car?"

"No!" I exclaimed, just as mortified as Michel now, if not more. "The salesgirl gave them to us for free!"

Mum had hurried back to the stove, and was stirring furiously, her face turned from us, having spilled the coats onto the dining table hurriedly.

Anthony just winked at me, "That's what they all say sweetheart."

He then he handed me the cuffs with a laugh and clapped me on the back. "When I gave you that advice, I didn't think you'd it so seriously!"

Then he sauntered past me, and sat down at the kitchen table.

I grabbed our coats, the hand-cuffs and with Michel right behind me, hurried out of the kitchen.

XXXX


	28. The Dawn of Understanding

Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"Well," Michel said, puffing out his cheeks and glancing at me uncomfortably, "_That_ was awkward."

We had retreated to our bedroom straight after the incident in the kitchen, and as soon as we'd entered I'd hurried to the bathroom and put the offending hand-cuffs in the lowest bathroom drawer, at the back, underneath a whole pile of hairbrushes and combs.

When I'd returned Michel had been sitting on the bed, looking sheepish.

I joined him, lying back and stretching out, trying to forget about the last few hours and every little embarrassing moment that had constituted them.

"Yeah," I murmured in reply, still trying to block all the images out of my mind. "It really was."

I felt Michel lay down next to me and tensed almost immediately, then cursed myself silently for doing so. Michel was still my best friend right. And nothing had actually _happened_. All we were doing was being two mature adults sharing a bed. And not even at night. And so what if his arms was pressed along the length of mine? _So what_?

The silence stretched on, uncomfortably so, and I strained my brain for something, _anything_, to say. But my mind was blank. Or atleast, completely tunnel-visioned. All I could possibly think about was Michel's arm next to mine, and his steady breathing and how fucking good he smelled. Like spice soap and shaving cream.

Just as I decided that going downstairs and sitting in the kitchen with Anthony would be better than _this_, Michel started to laugh.

I turned my head a little to stare at him.

"What are you laughing about?" I asked him, confused. As far as I could see, there wasn't anything to laugh about. Not one single little thing.

Apparently Michel didn't think so.

He caught my glare and laughed even harder.

"Oh Ria, come on, even you have to admit that this day really can't get any worse."

I blinked. "And you're laughing…why?"

Michel's laughter died into a chuckle, and then a grin.

"Because, sweetheart, sometimes you just have to laugh at these things." And his eyes, despite his wide smile, were so serious when he said this. Their grey depths no longer amused, just still and silent, watchful.

He rose up on his elbow slowly, and I watched him move, but didn't rise up with him. He leant over me a little, so he could keep contact with my eyes, but still, I said nothing.

The silence was back, but this time, it was static, quiet, heavy. I swallowed nervously, and just stared at him.

"Sometimes it's just better if you don't let the little things get to you," he continued, looking down at me, and now even his smile was gone. "And not take anything some-one says too seriously."

Why did I get the feeling we weren't talking about hand-cuffs anymore?

Still, I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. He just looked at me, slowly, gently, seriously.

And I was suddenly aware of how big he was. How wide his shoulders were, that when he leant over me they were all I could see. How his hair, shaggy and longish, fell about his space and how, when he leant a little closer, it was like a veil that separated us from the rest of the world.

It was no longer my bedroom, or my parent's house, my child-hood home.

Everything insignificant fell away, Beth, Callum, Susie. Anthony and his laughter. The new discomfit between me and Michel. Everything that didn't matter right here, right now, was gone, until there was only Michel, and his deep grey eyes, and his dark hair, the warmth of his body, suddenly so close to me, the stillness in the air. The waiting.

As if in a dream I watched him lean closer, slowly, gently, as if giving me time to move away, so speak, to protest, but there was nothing. Nothing I could do or say to get me out this moment. Nothing that could tear me away from this new world of just Michel and me.

Of the warmth of his lips when he finally, gently, laid them upon my own.

And I tried not to question why, when his lips brushed mine in that moment, it felt like coming home.

And then suddenly he was pulling away, and when I opened my eyes (when had I closed them?), I saw something like panic in his eyes. But this time I didn't try and read into it, nothing mattered but that feeling of warmth, of unaccountable joy, that had rushed over em and through me just moments before.

I brought my arms up and around his neck, and raising myself up slowly, kissed him fully. And had to suppress the moan of delight that rose up in my throat when he wrapped his arms around me and fell backwards onto the bed, pulling me with him, so I sprawled across his chest, our lips still locked together.

With something like surprise, I felt his tongue graze across my lips gently, and I opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, failing to suppress the shudder of delight that raced down my spine at the feeling. His arms tightened about me for a moment, then loosened again, one hand moving up into my hair, running along my scalp, the other trailing down my spine, down and down and down until he brushed the tips of his fingers gently over the curve of my ass, then down my thigh, always light, teasing, playing along my skin and scouring it with heat, leaving a trail of burning awareness in its wake.

I was suddenly overly aware that I was wearing a dress, and that it had ridden up a little when Michel had moved me on top of him, and that even now, his fingers were playing lightly along its hem, as if questioning where else they could go, and I felt goose-bumps rise all over me when one of his fingers lightly grazed just under the cloth, and moved up a little further, bringing the dress with it.

The kiss deepened even more, became fast and passionate, and Michel moaned into my mouth, and his hands, one still deep in my hair, the other on my thigh, tightened suddenly. With another load moan he rose up again, and rolled me until I was beneath him once more, his leg moving between my own legs, and broke the kiss.

"Ria," he breathed, his breath coming raggedly. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, met his gaze. His usually light grey eyes were darker now, and his face was filled with some emotion I couldn't name. For a moment, I just stared into his gaze, and then suddenly, I felt his leg move again between my thighs, press upwards a little, as if demanding attention, and suddenly I was aware again.

And aware of what we had just done.

As if he caught some changing expression in my face, Michel's eyes glazed over a little, became unreadable.

I stared at him, and could think only one thing. _My god, did I just make out with my best friend?_

That kiss in the garden had _nothing_ on this.

Michel moved away slowly, sat up a little, and brushed the hair that fell into his eyes away. He stared down at me in silence, and then, as if he had followed my own trail of thought, smiled tightly.

"There's no Beth here now, Ria."

I knew instantly what he meant.

He meant that before, I had used Beth as an excuse for the kiss. Used her as a reason to run away. But there was no Beth here now, was there, no reason at all for what we did. Just me and Michel. Just me and Michel and a kiss.

I stared at him, wondering what to say, how to explain my behaviour, how to justify whatever it was that I felt when I looked at him. Even though there really was no justification. _He was my best friend_. Best friends didn't, couldn't, just make out like that on a whim. Not without affecting some part of their friendship.

Good god, I thought, had I just ruined everything?

"Michel, god, I'm-"

Michel cut me off with a raised eyebrow. "You're what? Sorry?"

I winced a little, because that was exactly what I had been going to say. I remembered my own reaction to Michel saying sorry before, after another passionate kiss. I had been hurt by it alright, and confused. Was I really going to do the same thing to him?

I sat up, and pulled my dress down nervously.

He reached out to me, and I froze, but he just brushed his hand down my cheek, and then pulled away. His face looked almost…sad?

"It takes two, Ria. If you really are sorry for what just happened, then you cant take all the fault on yourself. It takes two kiss like that."

I looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm not really sorry," I said quietly. I said it so quietly I almost didn't expect him to hear it. It was a moment before he replied.

"Neither am I," he said, just as quietly.

I looked up in surprise, and he smiled at me again. It was a quiet smile, not the beaming brightness of his real smile, not the smile he gives when he's truly happy. "I could never be sorry for kissing you Ria."

_Then why are you smiling at me like that? Like we've both just done something wrong?_, I wanted to wail. But I didn't. I just smiled at him, and I knew that my smile to, was a little strained. But I reached out, like head, and touched his cheek gently.

"Neither could I," I told him, because it seemed like the only thing to say.

XXXX


	29. The Return

Chapter 29

**Here you all are. Sorry its been so long! This also isn't beta'd YET, I'v been a bit slack sending stuff off in time to post. Had a bit of writers block and haven't had the time. I'm off on holidays now though, SO, will hopefully be plenty of time to do some work. We're back to the plot a bit here, so enjoy! And review please!**

**Chapter 29**

Michel left the bed a few minutes later and walked into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him. I was pretty sure we both knew it had gone far enough this time. Far enough to make a whole new list of awkward questions anyway. Far enough to make a statement, and not quiet answer it.

With a groan, I fell back onto the bed.

What the hell was I doing?

I was throwing myself at guy when I had no idea what his intentions were! And not only that, I was throwing myself at my _best friend_. I was making out with my _best friend_ on a semi-regular basis. And it had ever done, aside from make my toes curl with excitement and my skin flush all over, was make everything awkward and destroy a friendship that was quickly becoming as fragile as glass.

_God_. There was a reason girls made such a distinction between Boy Friends and Boyfriends. Mixing the two was never nice. It was a bit like mixing banana and chocolate. Nice for a night of fondue, not so nice for breakfast every morning. It only works for about 1 in every hundred or so people. Hadn't I learnt _anything_ in high school?

I heard the shower turn on in the bathroom and the slap of clothes against tiles. I rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut. _I will not think of Michel naked. I will not think of Michel naked. I will not…_too late. The image filled my head before I could stop it. His bright grey eyes, the water sliding over his face, his smooth skin, down his shoulders, dipping into his collarbone, his stomach, his long thighs…everywhere in between…

Stop it!

I sat up and brushed my hair away from my face. This was getting ridiculous, I decided. Beyond ridiculous. I had never fantasised about Callum, not ever, and the only reason I could think of was because I had been dating him at the time so I hadn't _had_ to fantasise. He was all there for the taking. But Michel? Well, you know the saying. You always want what you can't have. And Michel, with his years-long status as Best Friend, was untouchable. That had to be the reason for the attraction. I only wanted him because I couldn't have him. Screw whatever Tamara had said. I wanted Michel, for purely sexual reasons, and only because I wasn't supposed to want him. It had nothing to do with _love_, or falling for him.

That had to be it. I was a Girl in Lust.

And then the bathroom door opened, and my whole theory puffed into smoke and blew out the window.

Because he was standing there, a towel tucked carelessly low on his hip-bones, looking hot and wet and delicious, and all I could think about was how nice it would be if he _smiled_ at me. Oh, don't get me wrong, it was doing all sorts of wonderful things to my body, him standing there, things I'd rather ignore, but the main thought in my mind was how _adorable_ he was. Not how hot. Or how yummy. Or how much I'd like to lick the water off his chest (though that didn't seem like such a bad idea). No, I was thinking about _him_.

And Girls in Lust don't do that do they? When their mans standing there, wrapped in a piece of cloth and nothing else, Girls in Lust _don't_ think about that mans smile. Or how nice that man hugs. They're thinking about much more important things. Like how long his penis is, or something. Which, honest to god, I had never wondered about. Because none of that stuffed mattered to me. I mean, it mattered, but only because _Michel_ mattered. Michel didn't matter _because_ of that stuff.

And that sounded a little too much like I had much more than a crush on the unattainable Greek God that was now gracing my presence with a dripping body and a small smile. I didn't think I was going to be able to fool myself much longer.

"Ria?" Michel asked, his voice breaking a silence I hadn't even realised was there. "Mind, um, getting me a new shirt out of my case?"

In a little of a daze, I did what he asked. Only I didn't so much as hand him the shirt as throw it to him. Which he caught with a frown and an anxious look before he ducked back into the bathroom.

I threw myself back on the bed.

Oh, dammit.

XXXX

Beth sat beside me at dinner, and I fought the urge to flinch. She rarely acknowledged me unless she had something planned. Beth wasn't the sort to fire randomly and hope that something hit. She planned and planned and planned.

Her sitting next to me was a bad sign.

"Ria," she greeted me coolly.

"Beth."

Michel put some potatoes on my plate, and poured me a full glass of wine. I looked at him gratefully, and patted his hand under the table. He just shrugged and grimaced, looking pointly at Beth.

I took a sip of my wine and looked around the table, pretending disinterest. George and Anthony had cornered Peter into what they called "boy talk". Which meant either soccer, cars, or girls. Sine Anthony was there, and looked interested in the conversation enough to contribute, I was guessing the main topic of discussion would be cars or soccer. Or both. Everything seemed to link in their minds.

Mum and dad were carefully avoiding my eyes, and had been since Anthony had happily regaled dad with an exaggerated tale of todays hand-cuff deal. Dad had laughed it off at first, but I knew it was getting to him. No man liked to be reminded that their little girl was all ground up.

I just wish he actually had reason to worry.

Michel was silent on my right, and ate carefully.

"So how did you like Susie?" Beth speared a piece of meat and put it daintily in her mouth. "I thought she was lovely, but then, I _am_ the god-mother." I waited for her to finish. "Such a beautiful little girl," Beth continued blithely, "and such a _darling_ couple, don't you agree?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. This was a little too unsubtle. Even for Beth. Still, it worked. I couldn't quite fight the surge of…jealousy?...no, hatred, that belted through my blood and demanded release.

"Yes," I replied, forcing my voice to indifference. "They really deserve each other."

"Yes well, I've always thought so. Callum's always had one eye on her, you know. But then, how can you not? Very few women can hold a man's attention when _Veronica's_ around."

Okay. Ouch.

"Really." I said, and speared a potato savagely.

Michel touched my hand gently under the table.

"I suppose it must all be very painful for you huh" Beth said, injecting sympathy into her voice. "I mean, you've always had trouble holding a man. I suppose one day it will just get too much. I hope not, but well, you know you can always come to me for help." She looked at me with mock-pity in her eyes. "I promise I won't spend _all_ my time with Peter."

Michel's hand stayed on my own. I gripped his tightly. I was furious, but dammed if I'd let Beth see it.

"Wow Beth, you've really improved," I said sweetly.

Her eyes narrowed, "improved in what?"

"Did you take Bitch 101 class's while I was away? You must have. You can't possible have come up with this all by yourself." Even though she could, but let's not push the point. "But there's no need to put me down to make yourself feel better, sister. You're just as good as me. _I_ know that, even if no-one else can see it."

I saw her eyes narrow. Jackpot.

Alright, so I knew it wasn't the most witty comeback ever. But it did the job.

"Ria," my sister said finally, after a menacing pause. "It's only the truth that you're better at me then some things."

Uh oh.

"Like spreading your legs for instance." She smiled pleasantly. "_Everyone_ knows you're _really_ good at that." She looked past me to Michel, and I felt his hold tighten on my hand. _Brace yourself buster_, I thought.

"Do you find that Michel? That she's good at spreading her legs? I know Callum did. He told me that sometimes, he had to pretend he was asleep just to get out of sex with her. Like a dog on rut, he said."

Then her eyes widened and she opened her mouth in a little round 'o' of shock. "Oh dear I've said too much haven't I? It's just that, well, Callum tells me some of the most amusing things, and it's just so hard to keep them to myself sometimes!"

I stared at her in shock, hardly believing that she'd go so far at the dinner table.

I glanced up at my family, but they were still oblivious to us, carrying on their own conversations. George's eyes met mine once, only briefly, but they were filled with fury when he turned them on Beth. Well, _he'd_ obviously heard.

I shook my head at her. "That was low Beth, even for you."

One of her perfectly waxed, blonde eyebrows arched. "Oh I'm sure we all know who really has the expertise on going _low_, Ria." Her blue eyes met mine. They were cold, unfeeling. "Like the entire boys soccer team for instance?"

She really had planned well, if she dredging up _high school_.

She turned away from me, and looked across the table at Anthony. "Don't you remember that Anthony?" Anthony turned his head to look at her. "Ria and the soccer boys? Quite a time wasn't it?"

The dining room fell silent.

Next to me, Michel hadn't said a word. But his hand was still in mine.

Anthony cocked his head at her, his smile confused.

"Beth," I said quietly. "Now isn't the time."

Beth just looked at me, smiling wide. "Whatever do you mean Ria? Your past is nothing to be _ashamed_ of! Unless of course…" she dropped her voice to a low whisper, which everyone heard anyway, "You haven't told _Michel_ yet?"

I stared at her, and I knew my eyes were furious.

"Michel doesn't care," I said tightly. And in agreement, his hand tightened around mine. He shifted a little closer to me, letting his leg press against my own, and his shoulder a comforting weight against mine.

Beth looked positively evil as her smile stretched wider. "Even about the girls?"

I felt my face drain of colour, and felt Michel wince beside me. I glanced down, and noticed dazedly that my hand was clenched around his, my nails digging into his skin. I loosened my hand quickly, but I still felt dizzy, faint, felt the blood pounding in my ears.

So much anger.

Somehow, I managed to keep it in check.

"There is no competition for Michel," I told her coolly, and by the disappointment in her eyes, I knew she had wanted more.

Sighing, and admitting thwarted defeat for tonight, and perhaps feeling the pointed glare of her parents and Peter, Beth let the subject drop. The rest of the meal was finished in utter silence.

_There is no competition for Michel. _I let the words replay around and around in my head. And realised, even as they whispered to me again and again, that they were true.

There would never be any competition for Michel.

XXXX


	30. The Worst Thing To Say

**Chapter 30**

The moment it was polite, Michel and I escaped upstairs.

I collapsed on the bed with a groan, and he, perhaps remembering the last time we had been on the bed together, wisely took a seat on the floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head and didn't answer.

He didn't push it.

I lay there for a while; my eyes closed trying to block all thoughts from my mind. But Beth's smile kept intruding. Cruel. Cold. Vengeful.

I couldn't believe she had brought up all the high-school shit.

Especially…no! I wouldn't think about it.

"Ria," Michel said gently. "Are you sure?"

Was I?

I trusted Michel, sure. He's stuck with me through everything…but this wasn't his burden. This was before his time. High school was me and Beth only. I didn't, _shouldn't_, need Michel to patch this all up for me.

This all should have been buried a long, long time ago.

"Ria?" Michel prompted. I heard the worry in his voice, felt it against my skin. He had moved from the floor to the bed, was lying down next to me, his head turned towards me. I felt his breath blowing gently across my arm. It would have made me shiver before…made my stomach tighten deliciously…but it didn't tonight.

Not now.

"No," I whispered finally. And knew I was being honest. I didn't want Michel to know. Not about that part of my life. There would be too many questions. Not enough answers. Not enough justification.

Not enough of anything.

"No, I don't," I repeated again, louder this time. Firmer.

"Okay," Michel agreed easily, his voice still soft. He stood up, and grasped my hands in his, pulling me up with him.

I looked up and met his eyes, they were full of concern. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he stepped back with a sardonic smile, and pulled me with him towards the bathroom.

"What are we doing?" I asked, feeling strangely lethargic. And safe. Michel still held my hands.

"_You_," he said, stressing the word, "Are having a bath." He bent down, released me hands, and flicked on the taps.

I blinked. "Why?" I already missed his warmth.

What was wrong with me?

I felt like I was going in to shock or something. I felt cold, like the only person who could really warm me was Michel. I watched his back as he bent over, testing the water and adjusting the dials. He poured some scented liquid into it, and I smiled with anticipation.

How had he known?

"Because," he replied after a moment, "baths are relaxing. And you, miss, need relaxing." He smiled at me. "More than anything else."

I don't know what made me say it. Mabye it was all the sensations in my body the last few days revolting against my sensible brain. Mabye it was that my tongue was just too fast for my mouth. Mabye I was possessed. Who knows. I can't really blame it on anyone but myself. And I still said it.

I said; "Sex is relaxing."

I saw Michel freeze for a breathless moment, then calmly go back to adjusting the nozzles. The bath was filling quickly. I watched it hungrily. _Rise Rise Rise_, I wanted to chant. Get high enough that I can drown myself and never have to look at Michel's face again. Sex is relaxing? What the hell! And after dinner as well, what the hell must he think of me? Beth's words sounded in my mind. _Like a dog on rut._

Oh boy was I.

He turned to face me, wiping his hands dry on his jeans. He raised an eyebrow. "Really." He said. Like he didn't already know. "I'll have to take you up on that sometime." It was said so lightly, so normally, that the relief almost staggered me. I lowered my eyes. He didn't think I was a dog on rut! Yippee!

He was suddenly close in front of me, and I felt his finger lifting my chin up gently. I stared into his eyes, tried to read them, but they were carefully blank. Only his face was gentle.

"Sex might be relaxing," he said gently, "but after sex isn't."

And then he walked out of the bathroom, and left me alone with only the sound of running taps and my frantically beating heart.

I'd never felt so deflated in my life.

He's practically just told me he didn't want to have sex with me! Or, that he'd be happy to have sex with me, as long he didn't have to deal with me afterwards…I wanted to hit my ahead against the wall.

Why the hell did I let myself say stupid shit like that?

I turned the taps off a few minuets later, and just as I readied to strip, I realised I didn't have anything to change into later.

I opened the door hesitantly, and was surprised the room was dark. I glanced around for Michel, and found the outline of his form spread out on the bed. Asleep!

Indignant, I grabbed my robe and stormed back into the bathroom. How dare he just…just _fall sleep_, when I was practically hyperventilating about what a sex fiend I was! Always throwing myself at him like some sort of slut. Well, it wouldn't happen again any time soon Mr-Sex-is-relaxing-but-after-sex-isn't. I slammed the door shut behind me.

XXX

Michel was right.

I felt more relaxed after my bath.

Blissfully so.

I didn't even clench my fists when I crawled into bed beside him and he didn't even move. Or say anything.

And I swear I didn't mean to snatch all the blankets onto my side of the bed. That was purely accidental.

I was _relaxed_.

Blissfully so.

Then came his voice, wide-awake, a velvety whisper near my ear.

"Ria?"

I tensed, tried to stop goose-bumps appearing all over my body.

"Yes?"

"Would you like me to hold you?"

I swallowed. "I would like that," I whispered back.

I felt his arm snake around my waist and pull me backwards against his chest. His head rested against the back of my neck, his breath blowing gently against my hair. His body was warm, solid, his arm firm, holding me tight.

_Like he never wanted to let go._

I smiled.

And fell asleep.

XXXX

It was a dream. It had to be a dream.

An excellent dream but a dream non-the-less.

I kept my eyes closed; I didn't want to wake up.

Because in my dream, Michel's arm was still wrapped tightly around me, and one of his fingers was making lazy circles on my stomach.

I could feel every movement, even through the robe, which I'd tightly around myself. His finger almost burned against my skin. I shut my eyes tighter.

I felt his breath, hot and heavy against the back of my neck, blowing gently through my hair until it reached my skin. I felt him nuzzle his face against my neck gently, felt the smooth flesh of lips against my skin, the wetness of his mouth when he kissed me there, firmly, suggestively.

My whole body tightened.

I clenched my fists infront of me, but kept my eyes firmly shut.

I _would not_ wake up.

His fingers slowed made wider circles, lazier, until his palm pressed flat against my robe-covered stomach. I suddenly wished I was wearing something sexy, silky. Dammit.

His hand pressed tighter, drew me back tighter against him.

I felt every curve of my body meld to his. Felt the tightness in his muscles, the tension, the unmistakeably hardness against my back.

I shivered.

And then suddenly his arms acme around me, and flipped me around, so we lay facing each other, front to front, legs suddenly, hopelessly, entangled.

Oh yes.

_Don't open your eyes now, Ria_, I told myself. _You just got to the good part_.

I felt those wet kisses against my collarbone this time. Felt his tongue as he pressed it against my skin. Felt my hands clench against his chest, where I had them pressed, felt my body cover in goose-bumps as the kisses moved further up became more demanding, pulling against my skin even as I felt his hands move over my back, trailing down my spine, over my backside, pulling me towards him so we were pressed tight together.

Desire struck me head-on in an instant, tackling me to the ground. At first it had just been, yeah baby, keep it going, this is nice. Now it was like yeah-baby-now-now-now-now. But feeling him, feeling his entire body pressed against me so...so _honestly_…it made me want to cry.

With what? Relief? Desire? _Love_?

No. Disappointment. Because this was dream.

Then I heard him.

"Ria, Ria baby," his breath rasped. He spoke between kisses. "Ria open your eyes for me baby."

No…

"Ria, come on baby, you're killing me here, wake up honey."

Surely not…

His teeth latched onto my skin, and desire flicked to pain in an instant, then he pressed his mouth against that same spot, and suddenly it was sweet. Like a lemon. Tangy beautiful.

My eyes flew open.

I felt my heart stop.

Dear god.

Michel.

His eyes locked onto mine, grey against green. Understanding smashed into me. This was Michel. Not dream Michel. Not fantasy Michel. I was lying in bed with _Michel_.

He ducked his head again, pressed another kiss on my neck, just below my jaw. I arched into him instinctively, felt his hands tighten on my back where he still held me, pressed tight against him.

"Ria, Ria," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're driving me crazy sweetheart."

Another kiss, I bit back the moan that threatened to escape my mouth.

Dear god, what was I doing?

Another kiss.

Who cared, it felt…so good…

Another kiss.

He worked his way up, over my face, kissing my forehead, my eye-lids, the tip of my nose.

I felt his breath, warm against my lips.

I ached.

_Please Michel. _

His lips met mine, and I sunk against him, into him, moving my own lips against his, running my tongue along his, brushing my teeth over his lips, making him gasp.

At the back of my mind, a little voice was telling me to stop.

I ignored it.

His hands moved, one falling to my waist, moved over my stomach carefully. I knew what he was searching for. He wanted the robe gone. _I_ wanted the robe gone.

I moved my hands over his chest, why the hell was he wearing a t-shirt?

And then I froze as I felt his hands slip inside the material, brush across the bare skin of my stomach. The sensation was almost to much. And at the same time, it was like getting splashed with a bucket of cold water.

Well, maybe not cold water, because desire was definitely still raging.

But reality had returned.

WHAT WAS I DOING?

I pushed away from him violently, sat up.

He stared at me a moment and his expression was the dazed look of a man who really doesn't have much idea of whats going on. I stared at his face until I saw him return, saw the real Michel inside his eyes.

He sat up slowly, reached out for me. I flinched away.

"Ria," he looked confused. "What…"

I stared at him in shock and horror. "For fucks sake Michel," I whispered, my voice ragged. "This is all _pretend_." I felt the tears gathering behind my eyes, but refused to let them fall.

I wasn't thinking straight, I knew that. But right now, all it seemed to matter was that Michel wasn't my boyfriend. He wasn't my lover. He was my fake. He was my cover so I didn't get cut to pieces by my family. He was my friend. But here, in London, it was all pretend. PRETEND.

He stared at me, and I saw the pain flash across his face, then disbelief. He rolled away, over the other side of the bed.

"If you really think that Ria, then you have a lot of growing up to do."

And then, just like that, he stormed from the room.

I watched him go, understanding too late what I had just done.

XXXX

* * *

**hey all, an authors note here**

I'm glad you're enjoying the story, but there have been some questions on both sites that I thought you might appreciate me answering

_**Will we ever get to hear it from Michel's perspective?**_

No, sadly. I'm dying to write him in but its far to late in the game for it now. Michel's just as much a mystery to us as he is to Ria. And because the story is focused alot on the relationship between Beth and Ria, Michel just doesnt know enough history about them to write it out. I'm really sorry!

_**Is she really as evil as her sister?**_

That question will be asnwered by the end, dont worry. But I'm hoping that so far, everyone can see a very marked difference in the attitudes of the two sisters. Ria's said time and time again that she's ruined Beth's life just as much as Beth has ruined hers, but what Beth does out of pure maliciousness is what Ria does out of revenge and self-defense. I'm not sure what chapter its written in, but at one point Ria does say that she doesnt have the kind of viciousness that lets Beth be such a bitch. BUT there is a reason for everything, and you'll find it all out, I promise.

_**Is this a Jane Austen fan-fic?**_

No, it isnt. It has nothing at all to do with them. I originally wrote it here because I desperately wanted to write it somewhere and Jane Austen was the only place I thought it remotely linked to. Since then, some people have shown me the fictionpress site, which I now post stories on. But because so many people like it here, I'm still updating on this site.

_**Why is Ria such a Block-head?**_

This is a common one haha. Trust me, I'm just as frustrated writing Ria as you are reading her. But she's insecure (if you haven't noticed before now) and I'm really just going off experience. In any sort of relationships there are a ton of questions that need to be answered, and Ria just happens to have a few more than perfectly adjusted people might. Because of Beth, and lots of her history, I hope you can understand some of her indecisiveness.

**_Please tell me her "fat friend" isnt there just to be made a fool of_**?

Some people might remember Danielle Adams? Or fat Dani? I think she's in "the morning after". Anyway, I just want to make this clear. Dani is NOT there just so Beth and Ria can laugh at her. She's going to the wedding to confront Beth for once, and shows alot of back-bone in doing this. Facing your enemy is sometimes the best thing. But I am not just using her as a laughing stock!

_**Is Ria Bi? I wasnt expecting that?**_

In the previous chapter, Beth makes a reference to "the girls". I'm not really sure what to make of it, because it just came and I left it there. But if Ria does end up bi, it has absolutely no relevance at all to the story. And theres a story behind beth's comment don't you worry. I just havent figured it out yet.

okay, hope that helps, any more questions, let me know!

* * *


	31. The Final Push

**Chapter 31 – sorry! Michel's rushed off in anger, so very little of him in this chapter, I can promise a make-up soon though! **

When I woke again, the sun was shining brightly through the curtained window. And Michel was still gone.

Anthony met me downstairs with a cup of coffee.

"Judging by the mood Michel's in, I figured you'd need it." He smiled faintly. "He came storming down here a few hours ago. Didn't say a word to anyone." His eyebrow quirked. "Had a bit of a fight did you?"

I took a sip of the coffee, winced when it burned down my throat. "Not exactly," I replied. I sat on the kitchen table, crossing my legs in front of me. I was still dressed in the soft robe for last night, but I'd put on an old shirt underneath, for decency's shake.

Anthony just looked at me. "Really." His voice was disbelieving.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Fine." I forced a smile. "We might have had a _bit_ of a disagreement."

Anthony sighed. "Of course you did. Because you're both completely incapable of being rational human beings." He sounded annoyed.

I glared. "_No_." I took another sip of coffee. "Its not my fault if he takes offence to the littlest thing."

"What did you say?"

I shifted on the table and shrugged, trying to pretend nonchalance. "I might have said that it was all…" I paused, winced at the memory of the words, "Pretend."

"And this was in the middle of…"

"Practically."

Anthony stared at me, and then burst into incredulous laughter. "Dear god, why don't you just chop off his balls next time? Serve them to him in eyeball stew?"

I just looked at him, and he bit off his laughter midway, alarmed by the look on my face.

"A little bit of sympathy wouldn't be uncalled for," I told him acidly.

Anthony looked heavenward. "Oh stop with the melodramatic bullshit Ria." He looked more amused than frustrated. "We both know you screwed up. _Again_. Admit it."

I glared at him, not liking the reminder. Annoyed, I traced the rim of the coffee cup with my finger. Anthony moved close towards me, raised my chin with his finger.

"Ria," he said gently. "It's okay to screw up sometimes." He smiled faintly. "But only if you try your hardest to fix it. Otherwise, what's the use of all this heart-ache and pain eh?"

He tapped my chin with his finger.

"Just think about it okay? It's just as frustrating for all of us to watch you and Michel to go in circles as it is for you to run them."

He turned and walked away. At the kitchen door, he looked back. "And another thing Ria." He smiled. "Michel loves you okay? It's not so impossible to do. Otherwise he wouldn't be with you in the first place." He walked out the door.

I groaned and set the coffee cup aside, let my head fall forward into my hands. "If only you knew," I muttered to myself. "If only you fucking knew."

XXXX

I called tomorrow straight after that. She answered me on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Tam, hey."

"Ariana? What's wrong?"

I twisted my hand around the cord, debated what to tell her over the phone. As little as possible, I decided. Best this conversation never have the chance of being over-heard.

"Can you meet me at the mall today?"

"Of course honey." Tamara knew better than to question me when I didn't first offer information. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

I went to the study window and pushed the curtains aside. The car Michel and I had hired was gone. I wondered where he'd taken it. I wondered what he was _doing_.

"Yes please. Now?"

"I'll be right over."

The phone clicked, and the line went dead.

XXXX

Tamara pulled up front of the house 15 minutes later, and waited in the car for me to join her.

"Hey," she greeted me, pushing her sunglasses up off her eyes so she could study me. "You don't look too well."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

Tamara on the other hand, looked gorgeous as usual. She wore a green sundress today, a thick brown belt clinched her waist, and her golden curls overflowed from their binds and cascaded down her shoulders.

"So, what's this all about?" She flicked her indicator on and pulled out from the curb. "There better be someone dying," she joked, "I cancelled my manicure for this."

I glanced at her. "Can it wait for lunch? I'd rather just sit down and spill all at once."

Tamara turned to look over her shoulder as she switched lanes. "Of course honey." She grinned at me. "I'm expecting a shit-load of scandal for all of this you know."

I just smiled. I didn't doubt that she'd get it.

XXXX

We went to the Food Court for lunch. Tamara grabbed a large KFC fries. I chose a healthy sandwich and eyed her lunch jealously.

"I don't know how you can eat that and stay as thin as you are."

Tamara laughed. "Because we both know you're the fat one in this family." She rolled her eyes. "So, can I hear it all now?"

I unwrapped my sandwich. "Can we eat first?"

"Gosh Ria, anyone would think you're avoiding the topic."

I glared at her. "No. I just want to eat." And I forced myself to take a savage bite. Tamara just shook her head at me, but she didn't press for more.

Finally, we finished, and when we set our drinks aside Tamar folded her arms on top of the table and met my eyes steadily.

"No more avoiding, Ria," she said steadily. "Tell me what's got you all flustered and upset."

"I am not," I said, folding my arms on my chest, "_flustered_."

Tamara raised an eyebrow at me, her lips pursing doubtfully. "Of course not." I didn't miss the sarcasm. "But can you tell me anyway? Today, preferably?"

I sighed, and gave in.

I told her the whole story. From first hearing of Bethany's wedding, to propositioning Michel, his own reaction. Beth at the pool house. The kiss. The awkwardness. Meeting Danielle Adams and my plans for her. Beth and Veronica. _Susie_. Making out with Michel. Twice. What Beth had said the night before about our past, what she'd hinted at…everything I could think of, I told her. It just felt so good, _too_ good, not to tell her everything. Finally, I was thinking the whole time I spoke of the past few days, the _truth_.

Tamar sat in silence for a whole minute and 45 seconds after I finished.

"Wow," she finally breathed. "I was not expecting _that_."

I grimaced. "Which part?"

"Well, Beth was hardly a surprise. Everyone knows she's a cold bitch. But the whole thing with Michel…"she trailed off. "Well, you definitely fooled me."

"Which means I've fooled everyone else."

Tamara smiled faintly. "Including yourselves."

I stared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" This whole thing had been about _not_ fooling myself. About not falling for Michel. Hadn't I told Michel that sometime last night? That this was all pretend?

Tamara raised an eyebrow. "Come on honey. If you really think that you and Michel are still pretending with whole relationship business, then you're an idiot."

I blinked. "Tam, the problems that we _are_ pretending. If we weren't pretending, it wouldn't be a problem."

"Maybe you were," Tamara said gently, "at the start. But not anymore, Ria. Not if what you've told me is the truth."

"It _is_ the truth," I said defensively. "I wouldn't lie to you Tam." Even as I said it, I flinched. I had already lied to Tamara. Lied to my entire family.

Tamar ignored my comment. "I wasn't saying that you were lying Ria," she said mildly. "But you _would_ be lying if you can talk to me now and say that you don't have feelings for Michel."

I groaned, shoved my head into my hands. "That's the problem Tamara! I do have feelings for him."

Even not looking at her, I heard the smile in her voice. "I'm not seeing much of a problem myself."

My head shot up. "How can you say that? This _is_ a huge fucking problem." I groaned again. "_I'm_ a huge fucking problem."

"Michel likes _you_ Ria. Get that through your thick head. Michel likes you. YOU! Didn't he run of this morning because you told him it was pretend?"

"No…yes…I don't know!" I was wailing now, and the people at the tables next to us looked away uncomfortably. I ignored them. "I don't know what he's thinking Tam. I never do! One moment he's all over me, the next he's saying something like 'I was just joking'. Or some shit like that. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

Tamara rolled her eyes heavenward. "For Christ's sake Ria. I never realised you were into this self-delusional victim shit you've got going on now. You know what I think yours and Michel's problem is? Your goddamn pride. You can't bring yourself to admit that you like him, that he, _god forbid_, should ever like you, and he runs away every time you say something and reject him!" Tamara shook her head. "This is ridiculous Ria. You're both like hormonal 13year old virgins. _Get over yourselves._ Just have sex, and move the fuck _on_." She finished that speech with eyes blazing and face twisted in frustration. I stared at her in shock.

When I didn't say anything for a while, she whimpered in defeat and rested her forehead on the desk. "How can two people be so fucking _stupid_?"

I stared at her, then looked away across the food court. I'd been told so many times that Michel liked me. That I liked him. That we should have sex. That we were stupid. Was it all true? But these were all the same questions I'd been asking for days. I still hadn't figured them out. I sighed.

"So…you really think that?" I asked Tamar quietly, and tensed when she raised her head to glare at me.

"Think what, Ria?" Her eyes still sparkled with pent-up frustration.

"That…if we just have…sex…it will be all right?"

Tamara stared at me. "I think," she said slowly, carefully, like she was talking to a two year old, "that its time you made your own damn decisions. And stop listening to what everyone else says. Or better yet, actually listen to _Michel_ this time."

Listen to Michel. It hadn't even occurred to me, not really. Could I just ask him? Did I have the courage to just ask him?

"I don't know if I can do that," I admitted sadly. "I don't know if I have the courage to do that."

Tamara looked resigned, her pretty face drawn into sad lines. "It's not a question of what you _can_ do Ria, it's a question of what your willing to do." She reached across the table and grasped my hand. "it's a question of what your willing to risk, to have your Michel."

I stared at her hand curled around my own, and knew she was right.

How much of myself was I willing to risk, to come straight with Michel?

Hopefully enough.

XXXX

_**Authors note**_

_**Some more questions**_

**How is that Ria can feel such an intense attraction to Michel and still be able to push him away because of a friendship?**

I thought is was a great question, one that hasn't really been addressed by me or any other reader. I'll try my best to explain. The thing is, Ria loves Michel, more than anyone. He was there for her from the very start, through Callum, through everything after Callum, now through this. I think she's scared that if something happens with her and Michel relationship-wise, and it goes wrong, who will she have to help her then? Theres a part of her that is VERY insecure, and very broken. She finds it hard to trust, mainly because of Beth and their history. Which will all come clear eventually. So that's part of the reason Ria is pushing Michel away a lot. However, you'll notice in this chapter Tam does question that and will hopefully knock some sense into her.


	32. The Telling Of It All

**A warning, not beta read yet!**

**Chapter 32**

Tamara dropped me home, and came inside the say hello to my parents.

"Tamara! Darling, my favourite niece!" My mother enveloped her in a tight hug. My dad just smiled at her quietly, then tromped back into the living room to finish watching the football game with Peter and George.

Mum pulled up a chair for Tamara and I.

Anthony entered the kitchen, wrinkling his nose.

"Straight men have no taste," he declared. He shuddered. "They actually _like_ watching that game."

Tamara raised an eyebrow. "More of a home-decorating man yourself?"

Anthony brightened visibly when he saw her and took a seat across from us. "Tammy! Good to see you." Then he frowned at her. "And _no_, to answer your question, I just like to see a little bit of backbone. Nothing remotely attractive about the cry-baby's that play that sport."

Mother cleared her throat. "Isn't that what men like you like though? The more feminine the better?"

Anthony blinked at her, and then burst out laughing. "God no!" he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. "I, for one, like men for being men, not for being _women_." he shuddered, as if the possibility disturbed him.

"If you're more into brutal sports, come to a football game back home sometime," I suggested, knowing full well what his answer would be. This topic of discussion had come up many times.

As I expected, Anthony shuddered again. "I might not like weepy sports, but that doesn't mean I like them to be completely uncivilised. That game is positively _Neanderthal_. Waste of perfectly good bodies, it is."

Tamara snorted with laughter. "I just prefer no sports at all," she declared, and mum, standing over the stove and stirring something that looked suspiciously like gravy, nodded her agreement.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, avoiding the question I actually wanted to ask, which was, 'where the fuck is Michel? '

Mum shrugged. "Beth is out with Veronica, freaking out over last minute details, even though everything is organised and has been for _weeks_ because _by god_, that girl is the most _picky _little…" She broke off, probably realising that she was about to say something rude about her eldest daughter, and something that none of us three in the kitchen would ever likely let her forget. "…darling," she finished lamely, and Anthony grinned outright.

"You're father and George are in the lounge playing barbarian and shouting at the television, you three are here and Michel…"

She turned around and gave me a level stare. "Hasn't been seen since this morning when your father came downstairs and found him asleep on the couch, and when he woke him, the poor boy ran off like a rabbit on fire."

She pursed her lips. "I think you'll need to fix that darling," she suggested, and Anthony and Tamara both gave me 'I-told-you-so looks.

I crossed my arms sulkily and sank down low in my chair. "So I've been told." I glared at Anthony. "Again and again."

Mum rolled her eyes. "Then why don't you try following some advice for once?" She turned back to the stove and stirred the dark liquid viciously. "It doesn't help anyone when you're too proud to admit you're wrong."

"You don't even know what's wrong!" I snapped defensively. My own mother was against me!

Mum didn't even turn around. "I don't need to darling. That poor boys upset and it's your fault." She banged the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, making all three of us at the table jump. "So fix it."

Anthony added to this little speech with a cough that sounded suspiciously like "fuck him hard."

I looked at him angrily and he held up his hands palms outward.

"I surrender to your greater wisdom." He murmured gravely. Then added quieter, so only I could hear. "Even if it means shooting yourself in the leg a dozen times."

I threw my hands in the air. "Fine!" I said. "I'll go find him! I'll declare my undying love and devotion! I fucking propose marriage! I'll drag him back here and have wild sex in my bedroom! _Happy now_?"

Anthony and Tamara laughed into their hands. Mum just looked at me in confusion.

"Well…that might be going a little bit too fast don't you think?"

I stared at her.

"I mean…why don't you just try apologising first?"

Tamara grinned at me. "Although the wild sex might work too."

"Well yes," mum said, biting her lip, "but just say sorry first okay?"

I looked at her incredulously for a moment. Sarcasm just rolled off some people. I shook my head and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Anthony and Tamara convulsing in fits of laughter and my mum, still confused, looking concerned.

XXXX

I took Tamara's car. What other choice did I have? I didn't bother to tell her. If she was going to laugh about my problems she could damn well stay a few hours longer and laugh about them some more.

I drove around the block a few times before I realised I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

Michel had never been to London._ I_ hadn't even been here for years. He sure as hell didn't know his way around, which meant it was ten times as hard to predict where he could possibly be.

Plus, he had a car.

He could have just got in it and kept driving. Driving and driving and driving and driving. Just like I had wanted to do on numerous occasions.

Shit.

I pulled over beside a park and sat for a while thinking. Where, aside from the fastest route to the horizon, would he, _could_ he, possibly go?

I thought back to my last few conversations with him. Had he given any hint at all as to where he might run away to if I was ever a stupid bitch and regretted him _again_? Somehow I was pretty damn sure that hadn't come up in conversation.

I groaned and rested my forehead against the steering wheel.

I could just wait, and hope he came back home…

But was that too much to ask?

I chase him away? And still ask him to come back running?

Somehow, I didn't think he'd do that. I didn't think his pride would let him do that. If it had been me, _I_ certainly wouldn't do that. I would have sat and sulked until my offender had hunted me down through every obstacle I could put in their way, and only after a very long night of grovelling would I forgive them.

But where on this damn earth would I go to sulk?

Think dammit!

The park?

I looked out my window at the swings and slides. They swung in the midday wind, looking lonely and forgotten among the bright noon-light that fell all around them.

No, not the park.

Somewhere to clear my mind.

I close my eyes. Somewhere to clear my mind. But…where? In _London_?

I picked up my cell phone and punched in a number.

Anthony answered on the first ring.

"Where's somewhere you would go to clear your mind?"

"You know, it is traditional to say 'hello' first." Anthony said mildly.

I waited.

He sighed. "Sorry. What was the question again?"

"Where's somewhere to go to clear your mind?" Preferably also somewhere you go to make yourself realise just how much you unconditionally love a particular someone and will forgive them for being such a dickhead.

Anthony hesitated. "You mean…to relax?"

"Well yeah. Anywhere you might go when you're heart-broken."

"Ah admitting our feelings now are we?"

I blew out a puff of air. "Only if I find him. Care to help?"

"Only if you promise to screw his brains out."

"_Anthony_."

"Fine," he huffed. "But you know I only have your best interests at heart."

"And obviously, my best interests all involve sex."

"Well, naturally. It's a completely natural and-"

"_Anthony_."

"I don't know what you're complaining about. You're the one that changed the subject." I didn't say anything, just waited. "Well, what does he usually do…for relaxation?"

I thought hard.

"Play computer games?"

Anthony scoffed. "Oh please. Hardly."

"Well you tell me then."

"Is he a runner?"

I thought back. I had no memory of him, ever, running. In fact, I distinctly remember him saying once that running was only useless torture designed to make you think you were actually getting fit when it was really just tearing your body apart and spending lots of money on joggers. I frowned. A Nike conspiracy, I believe he called it.

"No."

"Weights?"

"Who the hell does weights to clear their mind?"

"No need to bite my head off darling, it was just an idea," Anthony said lightly. "Don't you have any idea at all?"

"Would I be ringing you if I did?"

He sighed. "I guess not."

"_Come on_! There has be something else!"

Then two things happened simultaneously. Anthony said, "Well I'm all out of ideas honey-bunch", and at that exact same time, a little boy carrying a pair of flippers and a set of goggles wondered past.

I jumped.

"Flippers!"

There was silence on the other end. Then; "Pardon moi?"

"Anthony, you're a genius!"

"Well yes…but…"

I was grinning happily. My head was filled with realisation. My eyes had seen the light. I watched the little boy duck into the park and walk through the trees and disappear. I thought of the conversation between Michel and I just days ago.

_I didn't know you swam_, Ihad said.

_Not often and not well. And only for relaxation._

How could I have missed it?

"He's swimming!"

More silence. "Well, if there's flippers involved, that the logical conclusion…"

"No no, no flippers. Don't you get it? Flippers were just the idea, the light bulb. Michel's swimming! Swimming to clear his head!" I paused. "So where's the public pool around here?"

XXXX

I had known the moment I'd seen those flippers, that Michel would be here. And he was.

Climbing out of the water in fact, dripping wet and gorgeous and tanned and…_Focus Ria!_ I told myself sternly. Focus focus focus. On the goal. And the goal is that I love him. And that I'm sorry. And will he please please be the father of my children?

Which is what I wanted to say. But which I would _not_ because I didn't want to scare him off before I even caught him properly.

No, the focus, as my mother had said, was to say sorry.

And see where it goes from there.

And maybe a little bit of wild sex. Because, you know, I had to make sure Anthony and Tamara were happy too. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

And…_Where was he going_?

He was walking away. From me. All I could see was his gorgeous tanned back and the rippling muscles and the sunlight playing off his still dripping skin. I felt parts of my body tighten that I hadn't 

even known could tighten. Callum had never aroused me this way, or at least, not from just _walking_. The memories of this morning must have been too fresh, I reasoned. It was just pent-up frustration.

Really.

"Michel!" I tried to call out to him, but he didn't hear me. Was still walking away, draping a towel all around his lovely body as he went. Part of me was disappointed, because I just wanted to keep looking that beautiful back forever. Another part of me was glad, because despite how Michel-focused I was, I still noticed how all the other females he walked past were looking at him. I wanted to spit in their eyes and say 'that is _my_ man there.' But I couldn't do that.

Not yet anyway.

I hurried after him, trying not to lose him in the crowd. Since when had so many people used the public pools? Had they all shown up just to spite me? Because that was the ay my life worked, usually.

And I was so focused on hurrying after him that I didn't even notice climbing up a ramp and following him into a concrete building. Didn't notice any sort of odd stares I was getting from people coming down that ramp. Didn't quite register that the majority of those people were male. Actually, all of them were male.

And when we entered the building, well, we may as well have been alone. Because all I could see was him. And finally, he was within hearing distance, touching distance even.

I reached out to him to put a hand on his shoulder but let it drop instead. To hard to concentrate when I was touching him. And I _had_ to concentrate. Too much was at stake. My heart, for instance.

"Michel," I said quietly. And that simple word seemed to carry so much weight. Michel, my word said, I love you.

Now to just get those three words out of my head and into my mouth. Into _his_ mouth.

He turned around, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Ariana?" he said, sounding choked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I frowned at him. Okay, so I'd expected something a little more along the liens of 'thank god, jump me now.' Well, okay, so that wasn't so realistic. But still. Wasn't what he said a little…hostile?

"Looking for you…what else?" I was still frowning, trying to figure it all out in my head. Something was missing, some piece of the puzzle which would make complete sense of why he just said 'what the hell are you dong here?'

One eyebrow rose. God, he looked sexy. All wet and…and dripping…

"You're looking for me?"

What the hell? "Yes."

Both eyebrows rose. "In the men's bathrooms?"

"What? No." I stopped. Looked around.

Yes, there was that missing piece.

_In the men's bathrooms._

Dear god. So that explained the smell.

I felt my face drain of colour as I looked around again. I heard the toilet flush in the background. All that was inside my head was buzz. How, I thought faintly, embarrassing.

The toilet door opened, a young guy stepped out, still fumbling with his fly. He stopped when he saw me. Looked at Michel.

"Dude…what the…?" He looked at me, finished doing up his pants, and promptly turned tomato red.

And Michel, sweet, _loyal_, darling, love-of-my-life-Michel, took one look at my face and burst out laughing.

And at the sight of his sudden laughter, the moment I saw how bright his eyes lit up and how wide and real his smile was, how, even when he stopped laughing and looked at me, as if sensing my thoughts, the laughter still stayed on his face, like a golden after-glow, I knew it was worth it. Every embarrassment, every heart-ache, everything I'd ever said or done had been worth just to see him laugh.

_Was this what love felt like?_

As if he saw something of what I was feeling written on my face, his laughter slowly dies away and he stared into my eyes gravely.

"Ariana," he said slowly, "why did you come looking for me?"

I looked away from his gaze. "I…I needed to talk to you."

"Needed?" he's picked up on the past tense.

"Well. Need…I suppose. I still…want to talk. It's just…" I hesitated. Now, when the moment was upon me, did I have the courage?

I looked around. We were standing so out in the open.

"It's just…" I paused. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?" I asked in a sudden rush.

Michel looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to gauge what I was wanting to talk about. Then with a roll of his eyes he took me by the hand and dragged me into a cubicle.

A cubicle!

And okay, not a toilet cubicle, a changing room cubicle, but still…ew.

"Michel! Yuck!"

In the dim light, I saw his eyes narrow.

"Well where were you proposing to have this talk?"

"I don't know. _Not_ the men's bathroom?"

He rolled his eyes again. "Whatever," he said, and crossed his arms. "You wanted to talk, now talk." Now that the hilarity of my situation was done and gone, he was angry again, his face stony, eye hard. "What could possible be so important that the great Ria Wilkins would actually _deign_ to talk to me about?"

I winced. _Ouch_.

I took a deep breath.

"Well Michel…the thing is…" I hesitated. Then plunged on. "The thing is, I like you. A lot."

XXXXX

**Yes, sorry, kill me now.**

**But I needed to break it or the chapter will be too long. I'll make it up to you promise! Lots of Michel/Ria interaction the next chapter **

**Review please!**


	33. The Promise

Here you are, not beta read yet, so will be a shit load of mistakes, sorry

**Here you are, not beta read yet, so will be a shit load of mistakes, sorry! **

**Chapter 33**

In the dim light of the toilet cubicle I watched his eyes widen and shock spread across his face, replacing the anger that had been there a moment before.

"…What?" He asked, a little loudly I thought.

"You heard what I said," I snapped, suddenly defensive. I hadn't expected shock. I hadn't expected '_what'_ . I wasn't quite sure what I _had_ expected, but it most definitely had not been '_what'_.

He blinked. "Well…yes…" He paused, frowned. "But I'm not really sure what you meant."

I stared at him. Now _I_ was shocked.

Not really know what I meant?

_Not really know what I meant?_

How many fucking ways were there to interpret 'Michel, I really like you'?

Not that many, let me tell you.

"You're not really sure what I meant?" I demanded, incredulous.

The anger was back, and he crossed his arms stubbornly. I tried to ignore the fact that the movement put his arms very close to me, so there was hardly a hairs breadth between us. I felt my skin sizzling a little with the possibility of contact.

"No," he said, biting the words. "I'm not really sure." His eyes were stony and hard.

I swallowed, and tried for light humour. "Well…couldn't you just…pretend that you do?" I asked him hopefully.

He raised an eyebrow. "And where," he wanted to know, "would that get us?"

I smiled weakly. "Out of the toilet cubicle, for one." Now that the moment of truth had been and passed, and I was finding I didn't very much like Michel's reaction to my little confession, I very much wanted out.

How could I ever have thought admitting my feelings for Michel was a good idea? He clearly wanted to nothing to do with me. What kind of person, supposedly wildly, passionately in lust and love with you, says '_what'_ when you admit you very much like them back?

_Not_ someone wildly and passionately in lust and love with you, I decided.

I was going to _kill_ Anthony.

Michel glared at me. "Don't joke Ria. Just tell me what you meant."

I tried to move back a little, not that there was very far to go, with the brick of the toilet cubicle pressing against both our backs, and a space now decidedly far to closeted for my liking dividing us. If Michel had responded to my confession with, say, an ardent, heated kiss, I was sure I wouldn't be minding the amount of space (or lack of) there was.

But right now, with my words hanging between us, it was suddenly too hot. Too close. Too trapping.

I just…I meant…well, you're a great guy."

"I'm a great guy," Michel repeated in a monotone.

I nodded.

"That's it?"

I stared at him. There was that question in his eyes again. The same question that had been there on the flight over here. An unmet expectation, I thought.

"Well…." What to do? "Yeah…"

He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. He looked less angry now, more…resigned. Dare I say sad?

He turned to go, and side-on, he was definitely far too close for my personal comfort.

"Fine." he said. He reached over to unlock the toilet cubicle. I watched the lock un turning, feeling a bit sick. Had I really come all this way just to blow it so quickly? Just because he'd asked me what I meant?

Could it really be that he didn't understand?

"Michel…" I whispered. His hand paused briefly, then finished turning the lock and moved up to press against the door.

"I'm sorry Ariana," he said quietly, his face turned away from me. "But that wasn't what I needed to hear."

He pushed the door open, and the light spilled on. I blinked against the glare.

"Michel," I said, panicking suddenly. He had stepped out into the light, turned back when I said his name. "Wait."

He tilted his head a little, and I saw the sunlight fall across half his face. His grey eyes glittered when he looked at me.

His mouth twisted. "For _what_?"

I stared at him in absolute silence.

His question knifed through me.

For what?

For me, I thought.

For me and my goddamn courage.

For me to grow a backbone.

For me to get over my sister.

For me to stop taking every little thing she said so seriously.

For to wake up and smell the fucking roses.

But I was pretty sure, even as I thought up all these things he should wait for, that he was done with waiting.

Was I about to lose the last opportunity to say this to him? Ever?

On impulse, I grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the soft lighting of the cubicle, moving infront of the door and locking it quickly so he couldn't move past me and push his way out again, not without pushing me out of the way anyway.

He stared at me in silence, then with a frustrated noise, raked his hand through his chocolate brown hair once more.

"Ariana," he snapped impatiently, "_Stop playing games with me_."

"Michel," I said, "I'm not playing games with you."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Anymore," I added with a sigh. "I'm not playing games with you _anymore_."

He jerked his head in a nod.

"And," I continued, "I'd like to try and say want I want to say again." When he only looked at me, I smiled shakily. "Or, I'd like another chance to say it…right."

His eyes became intense, and I had the sick feeling he could see right through me. But he said nothing, just waited. His silence was permission enough.

"I guess I…I came here to say that I really like you. Like, _really_ like you. Not as a best friend, or a friend, or whatever. I just…" God, how do you even say things like this? How do you explain to someone that you like them, and why you like them, and what you wanted to do to them now that this was all established?

"I like…kissing you." There was no reaction to this, just his smooth face, his piercing eyes. I pummelled on, knowing that I was sinking into quick sand even as I said it. And that I would continue sinking until Michel gave me something to hold on to.

"I like kissing you," I repeated. "Well, I love kissing you. I like h-holding your hand. And sharing a bed with you, and…"

Still no reaction. He just waited.

"And I don't know how to say this, really."

Oh good god, were those tears in my eyes? Please no. Please not here. Not now.

"I just, well, I like _not_ being your best friend. I like being more than that. Even if, well, it's all just pretend to you. I like it." I forced the tears back. "I like it a lot."

What if I lost him now?

"And I guess I just wanted to know how you…how you felt…about," I waved a hand lamely, "all this."

He stared at me in silence. It pressed all around me. Pushing and pulling, this way and that, like a heavy weight against my shoulders that wanted to press me down to the ground. But that same weight pushing me upwards, into the air, made me feel like I could fly.

"And I know," I continued, "That I'm not, well, the best catch. And I know that this all might be a little bit…sick, for you. Because we're best friends and all. And I know this isn't exactly the ideal time, with my sisters wedding and all. And well, with Callum a-and everything. And I know that my family's a little screwed up…" I saw his eyebrow flicker upwards at this, but still he gave no sign of what he was thinking of feeling. "But I just, I thought I'd try. Well, see. See if you might, um, feel a little bit the same."

I pressed my back against the cool wood of the door and looked up at him.

"Do you?" I asked. "Do you feel the same, I mean?"

The intensity of his eyes had faded, become gentler, softer.

I watched as the stony expression of his face faded a little, replaced by one of soft wonder, a kind of growing happiness that made all my insides twist around themselves in nervousness and anticipation.

He was suddenly close, closer than he had been. But this time, I didn't mind. I just breathed in deep and hoped that this time, if I fell from the heights of _love_, it might be a little less hard. A little less heart-breaking. Because it was Michel, not Callum, who stood before me. Even if he didn't love me the way I wanted, he still _loved_ me.

I watched the gentleness of his face and knew that no matter what happened, Michel would never, ever hurt me.

His hand reached out, grasped my chin and tilted it upwards.

I met his eyes hesitantly and breathed in deeply again when I saw his head tilt lower. His hot breath fanned across my lips, made all my skin, all those delicious places in my body that wanted his touch tingle and tighten.

"Ariana Wilkins," he whispered onto my lips. "Do you realise how fucking long I've been waiting to hear you say all that?"

And then he kissed me.

And it was perfect.

XXXX

Well okay, so not _perfect_.

I mean, the actual _kiss_ was perfect. Starting off slow and gentle, slowly building up into passion, hot, runny desire that made him move forward against me and press me hard against the toilet cubicle wall. I could feel his naked chest against me, as hot as his kiss, smooth and tanned and made for running soft fingers across. And his legs, pressing against me, were encased in the wet, soft material of his board shorts, and the contrast between the two, hot and cold, made me pant and moan and press against his mouth even harder.

So long, I thought, so long and now we could finally, _finally_, do this. Guilt free. With total understanding.

Except for the things that weren't quite, well, perfect.

Being;

a) We were in a toilet cubicle, b) we were in a toilet cubicle in the men's bathrooms so everything had the faint odour of piss and chlorine, and c) Judging from the sounds both of us were busy making, we weren't going to able to stop if we got any further which was a shame because, g) I didn't have a condom. And judging from tight his board shorts were, and how good they felt rubbing up against me, especially that secret spot between my legs, he didn't either.

I pulled away.

"Michel," I gasped, grasping his hair and pulling him physically away when he ignored me and started planting hot wet kisses all down my neck. "_Michel_."

He winced and stepped back obediently when I tugged on a lock of hair. "_What_?" His breath was still heavy and uneven, and he stared at me with slightly glazed eyes.

"We can't do this here."

He pouted, but some of the glazed look left his eyes. "Why?"

I rolled my eyes heavenward. "Because," I said, making an effort to control my breathing and calm my entire body down. "It's a men's cubicle."

He groaned and pressed forward again, but he didn't go for my lips, just rested his forehead against my own.

"I was hoping you weren't going to remember that."

I smiled at him, and he smiled back. A smile of such piercing sweetness it made my heart ache. I pressed my lips against his cheek a traced a small circle on his bare chest, smiling wider when the movement made goose-bumps rise up all over his chest.

I leant forward so my mouth pressed against his ear.

"Tonight," I whispered. I nipped the lobe and laughed when his hands moved out suddenly and grasped me close to him. "I promise."

He groaned again, his hand tightening on my hips.

"You promise?"

I laughed again and buried my face into his chest.

"Yes, I really, really promise."

And with a laugh, he pulled me closer, and wrapped his arms tight around me.

"I'm never going to let you go now, you realise," he murmured, pressing his face into my hair so his words were muffled.

I put my arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

"I wouldn't want you to."

XXXX

**Hey all, I'm sorry it took so long!**

**Been a bit busy. Holidays weren't as relaxing as I thought.**

**Well, please review, as usual,**

**-ness**


	34. The Fight

We returned to the house in separate cars,

**Not beta'd yet!**

The moment we walked in the house hand in hand, Anthony, Tamara and George greeted us in the hallway with pale, sickly faces.

"Dear god," Anthony moaned, leading the way into the living room, "_she's a witch_." He fell onto the sofa, running both his hands through his hair.

I glanced at Tamara in confusion. "Me?"

My cousin snorted. "Dear Lord _no_. Bethany. You couldn't hold a candle to her if you tried." She took a seat beside Anthony, and George, Michel and I sank into the lounge opposite them.

"What happened?" I addressed the question to George or Tamara; Anthony had sunk his head into his hands and was looking a little green around the edges.

George smiled tightly. "She just found out that the people who were providing the…erh…floral arrangements for the reception are unable to provide the required amount of lilies or Black Fish for the arrangements."

He said it like he was rehearsing a speech. Or a particular someone had probably been screaming the very same explanation for the last hour or so.

I raised an eyebrow. "And when did they find this out?"

Tamara shrugged. "The florist called about an hour ago. Apparently there was an accident at the shop. And all the flowers are…ruined."

"And she can't just go elsewhere?"

Anthony raised his head from his hands and rolled his eyes. "You know you're sister better than most Ria. Do you really think she'd accept that?"

I grimaced. "No. But it was worth a try. Where's Peter?"

George shuddered. "With Bethany. Probably trying to stop her from slaughtering the florist before they're refunded completely."

A scream reverberated across the ceiling above us, followed by a slamming door. We all looked up.

Tamara laughed uncomfortably. "I think Im going to go."

Anthony looked devastated. "And leave us here? All by ourselves?"

Tamara shot him an amused look. "It was your choice, staying here. I certainly knew better. Bethany, Ria, and a Wedding all under the same roof? I'm surprised no-ones dead."

Another scream sounded.

Tamara grinned a little. "Yet," she amended after a moment. I glared at her and she just smiled sweetly.

"Come on, you know you're as bad as each other," she said mildly, and then glanced pointly at the ceiling. "Why don't you go save the florist? You're the only one with enough guts to tackle her."

And then she left.

If I wanted to be mean, I'd say she ran to the door.

I glanced at Michel, who looked just as pale as Anthony and George. I reached across to squeeze his hand.

"If I don't come down again," I joked, "it was good knowing you."

He smiled at weakly. "You, also."

Anthony rolled his eyes expressively and shook his head at George.

"Kids these days," he said, tapping the side of his nose knowingly, "they just don't know where to stop with the affection."

George laughed agreement. "Any more lovey dovey and I might be finding myself an Uncle."

They both grinned at us sarcastically.

I stood up, then bent down and kissed Michel quickly on the mouth.

I looked at my cousins defiantly.

"There, happy now?"

Anthony was covering his eyes dramatically. "Oh! The horror! It burns it burns! That was too far! _Too far!_"

George just waved me upstairs. "Go, do your thing. Be the hero of the day."

With a last look at the 3 laughing men on the lounge, I sprinted upstairs.

XXXX

Peter was standing outside his Bethany's bedroom, banging on the door.

"Baby, let me in," he was calling, "Come on honey, you know this isn't such a big deal…"

I paused mid-stride, fighting the urge to laugh. The telephone hung limply his hand I wondered if the florist was still on the other end. If she was a smart girl, she'd close up and take the next plane out of England.

Bethany, from beyond the door, screamed defiance.

"She offered me peonies, Peter! _Peonies_! Don't you understand what a disaster that would be? Don't you _care_?"

Peter sighed, and as I approached, I had the strong suspicion he was rolling his eyes.

"Of course I care honey," he crooned, "you know I do. I wouldn't be marrying you if I didn't. But honey, it's just some silly flowers."

I winced. Wrong thing to say buddy.

"Just some silly flowers?" Bethany screeched, and I heard an angry crash from the other side of the door. "This isn't about some silly flowers! This is our wedding Peter! Our wedding!"

"Darling," Peter attempted to calm her with a soothing voice, "the only thing that matters to me about this Wedding is that _you're_ there."

I came up beside him and he glanced at me tiredly. His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and there were smudges beneath them, like he hadn't drunk or eaten properly for some time.

_Well said_, I mouthed at him and he gave me an exhausted smile.

"Where's mum and dad?" I asked him quietly.

He looked disgusted. "They ran off," he replied, just as low, "the moment this," he jerked his head at the door, "started."

I gave him a sympathetic look but he just shrugged.

"I'm more worried about the florist," he said, echoing my own thoughts.

I smiled faintly, and lowered my voice to the barest whisper. "Why do you put up with this shit?"

Another shout of frustration echoed through the door, and we both looked at it, then at each other. His smile was faint, but there.

"Because I love her."

Because I love her.

The words echoed in my mind. _Because I love her_. It gave people so much power, I thought, this love. And it could take so much away.

I glanced down at the phone he still held in his hand.

"She still there?"

"He," Peter corrected absently, his gaze on the bedroom door again. "Yeah, he is." I grinned inwardly, wondering what the florist would make of everything he'd just heard.

I held out my hand for phone, and Peter hesitated.

"Give it to me," I said. "I'll deal with the flowers. You deal with your fiancé." In my mind, it was an unfair trade. Some quaking florist for Bethany. But Peter seemed happy enough with it, and he finally nodded and handed me the phone.

I walked down the hall with it before pressing the phone against my ear again.

I turned back at the sound of a door opening. Bethany was in Peters arms, murmuring to him.

A few of her words drifted down the hallway to me.

"_I just want everything to be perfect_."

I would have believed her, believed that this was all because of the wedding, if she hadn't been watching me over his shoulder, her eyes cold, no trace of tears left on her face. Peter was oblivious, was running his hands up and down her back, soothing her with sweet words.

And still she watched me.

With a disgusted shake of my head I turned away from her and put the phone to my ear.

XXXX

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the other line. "Miss Bethany?" The voice was wary, and I wondered how long Bethany had screamed at the poor man.

"No this is her sister, Ariana."

There was a sigh of relief. "My names Stephen, Miss. I'm very sorry for all the drama Miss, but there's really nothing we can do." The voice was elderly male, with a trace of accent I couldn't place. I imagined a little old man sitting in his florist, spreading his hands helplessly.

I sighed. "Care to explain what happened Stephen? As far as I know, we ordered these flowers weeks ago."

"Yes, yes," the florist replied quickly, "but you see Miss; they were on their way here. We had to import from the orchids you see, there's no way we grow them inner-city…" he paused, like he was waiting for me to say something, and when I said nothing, he continued on hurriedly. "But there was an accident, you see, with the truck. And all the flowers were destroyed."

I swallowed. "I'm very sorry for that, is your driver alright?"

"He's in hospital with head injuries Miss, but nothing they can't fix."

"That's good then. So why aren't you able to just contact the orchids and have another load sent out?"

"Well you see Miss, that's just the thing. Ordinarily we would, but at the moment, the Lily's and Black Fish are in great demand and they simply don't have the stocks to recover what we would need."

I sighed. "Right. So what would you suggest?"

"Well, we have a large supply of peonies…they are quite lovely for weddings…And we will of course provide tear-drops and cascades free of charge…"

I winced.

"Or," Stephen continued quickly, as if he had sensed my reaction, "you can of course try other florists, we will be happy to give a full refund on our services."

"And what are the chances that another florist will be able to supply the flowers?"

Another pause. "Honestly Miss?"

"Yes, honestly."

"If you're needing them by tomorrow Miss, I highly doubt the chances. Speaking as a objective third party rather than a business man, I'd suggest you take the peonies and work with whatever we have left here."

"And you will of course, be using the money we've already paid you to cover the costs?"

"Well, peonies are quite a bit more expensive then…" he trailed off. "But I suppose it can be done." He sighed.

I smiled into the phone.

"Thankyou Stephen, I'll let my sister know. I'm sure she'll be pleased." Not.

"And will she be meeting me at the reception early tomorrow morning to oversee the final decorations?"

"I'm assuming so."

"Very well Miss," he sounded weary and resigned. "Thank you for your understanding."

"I'm her younger sister, Stephen; I'm very well aware Bethany can be quite terrifying. I'll see she's on her best behaviour."

"Thankyou Miss," he was relieved.

I hung up. I didn't envy his task tomorrow.

I put the phone down on the hallway table and went back to Bethany's room. I knocked quietly and walked in.

Bethany was sitting on her bed, cuddled around Peter. She looked at me with cool eyes.

"Well?"

I stayed near the door. A quick escape if she decided to scratch my eyes out.

"I spoke to the florist," I began carefully, glancing quickly at Peter, "just like your fiancé asked me to." Peter winced a little, but I ignored him. I wasn't about to get dragged into the mud alone. "He said that at this late stage, Lily's and Black Fish just aren't obtainable. But he's willing to provide…" I hesitated, "_peonies_…" Bethany's eyes flashed, "as well as Tear Drops and Cascades at a discounted price. We won't be paying any extra for their services."

"Peonies." Bethany repeated coolly.

"Well…yes."

"See?" she said, turning to Peter, "this is what you get when you let _her_ handle anything. She ruins everything." Peter shrunk back a little. "She got us peonies. _Peonies_! For our _wedding_." I could tell she was working herself back up to boiling point. "They wont even _fucking_ match my dress!"

"Honey-" Peter started, stretching out a placating hand, which she knocked away.

"She just ruins everything! _Everything_!" she cried, apparently forgetting I was still in the room. But the moment I started to edge back to the door she turned on me, her arm out flung. "_You_!" she screamed, "you make a mess of _every_ _fucking_ _thing_ in my life! You enjoy making my cry! You _enjoy_ ruining whats supposed to be the best day of my life! _I hate you_!" she cried passionately. "Its started with Marc and its _never going to fucking end_. I hate you," she was sobbing suddenly, and Peter, looking terrified, tried to pull her into his arms.

She wrenched away from him, and I stared in horror at the tears running in rivers down her cheeks. Where the hell had this come from?

"You ruin everything Ria," she was quiet suddenly, and her voice, so cold and deadly, was more terrifying than her screaming rage. I stepped back. "You have always, _always_, tried to take away everything from me that's mine. Even _him_." She flung an arm towards Peter, who turned pale at the accusation.

She advanced towards me, her eyes furious, her face wet. "One wasn't enough for you was it? Its never been enough. You just can't stand the fact that I might have something that you don't. You took Marc from me Ria. And now you want to take this."

I was speechless. This was what it was about? Marc? Drugged up, cocaine addict Marc? This was the rift between us? Not that I hadn't known that. Not that I hadn't realised that it had been him that had started everything. But I never thought she still held on to it.

She stood in front of me then, so righteous, so furious, so damn obsessed with something that had ceased, long ago, to matter to me.

"Marc didn't even love you Ria. He loved _me_. And you just cant deal with it can you? You and your…your Michel…You're _oh so perfect_ boyfriend. Do you still laugh at night over it Ria? Do you still think about what you took from me. Because I do. And I will. Never. Forget. It." She accentuated each word with a step towards me, and her eyes were bight, too bright. Like she was mad, in the grips of something I couldn't see.

I looked past her at Peter. He looked pale and horrified.

I wondered how it felt to have your fiancé sprouting another mans name at your wedding.

I looked back at her, felt the anger boiling in me.

"You're wrong," I said quietly. "Marc wasn't yours. He never was. Don't you remember Bethany? He was _my_ boyfriend. You were the one who wanted him. All along. But he never dated you did he? Even when we broke up, he still didn't date you." I stared deep into her eyes, feeling horrible calm. "_You_ were just his fuck buddy." Her eyes widened like I'd slapped her. "_I_ was his girlfriend."

Her face drained of all colour, went a sickly green, her eyes widened with horror and fury. And before I could say anything, before I could even raise my hands to defend myself, she had slapped me hard across the face.

"You," she said, her face close to me, her breath hissing between her teeth. "Are nothing but a stupid whore."

I looked at her unblinkingly. "But I'm right."

And then, with a scream of fury, she pushed past me out the door and slammed her way down the hall. I watched her go, sensed the rolling black waves of her fury follow pass me, following her hastily.

Shaken suddenly, and short of breath, my anger drained away from me and I looked back at Peter. He was still sitting by the bed, looking like the wind had been knocked from him.

"Who," he asked finally, his voice weak, "is Marc?"

I looked at him along time, and remembered my earlier words to him.

_Why do you out up with this shit?_ I'd asked him.

_Because I love her. _

I saw the love there in his eyes then, still there, even after what had just happened. I shook my head. It was a tragedy, I thought, this love.

You don't," I said quietly, "want to ever know."

And then I turned on my heel and walked out of the room.

XXXX


	35. The Story behind Marc

"Wow," Anthony said when I came downstairs to the kitchen a moment later

**Yes yes I know its short, but I wasn't sure if I would have any more time tonight to write it, so I figured I'd post it and see what else I could get done. **

**Review please! **

**Chapter 35**

"Wow," Anthony said when I came downstairs to the kitchen a moment later. "What was that about?"

I accepted the glass of water Michel handed me.

"You didn't hear?" I asked Anthony.

"We heard screaming," George said, joining us in the kitchen. "But we couldn't make out the words.

I raised an eyebrow at him. No doubt they'd all tried.

"So?" Anthony said, "What was it about?"

I glanced down into my water and swirled it around absently. "Peonies," I said finally. I wasn't about to admit what had actually caused the fight. That being an age-old boyfriend who'd managed to tear me and my sister apart. The fact that he'd done it all without any sort of working brain was even more impressive.

Anthony scoffed. "Yeah, right. No-one screams that loudly about _peonies_."

I felt bad about lying, but I did it anyway. "Bethany does."

Michel led me to a seat at the kitchen table and then sat down next to me. I glanced at him in confusion, wondering why he was being so careful with me. And when I saw the aching concern in his eyes I almost melted.

Anthony and George both took the seat opposite us. "Seriously?" Anthony said, looking almost impressed. "I didn't think she had it in her."

I set my glass on the table. "Had _what_ in her?"

Anthony shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know. The ability to scream so loudly about something to pathetic."

"I think it's more the principle of the thing," I muttered. Yeah. The principle of an old boyfriend.

I felt incredulous eyes on me. I glanced up and met Anthony's mock astonished look.

"What?" I snapped, curling my hands around my glass of water and accepting Michel's placating hand on my shoulder.

"You just defended her!" he looked triumphant.

I frowned at him. "So?"

"_So_…We know it can't possibly have been about peonies if you _defended_ her." He looked at me, grinning. "Fess up punk."

I glared. "It was about peonies." At the start. "And I did not just _defend_ her. I just gave you her reasons for being such an insane witch."

Anthony shook his head, and looked to be about to say something when Peter entered the room. He snapped his mouth closed. His eyes lightened and he turned to Peter.

"So tell us Peter, what was that magnificent spat about?"

But Peter ignored Anthony. He was staring at me.

"Ria, I think its best I know. Before tomorrow."

I stared at him, dreading his next words.

Anthony looked between us. "Know what?" he asked excitedly.

"Anthony," George said in exasperation, "you are _such_ a gossip."

Anthony only rolled his eyes and looked at Peter expectantly. Beside me, Michel's hand moved from shoulder to the back of my neck, resting his finger-tips gently against the exposed skin there. It relaxed me instantly, and I leaned back a little into his touch.

Peter took the end seat at the small dining table and laid his hands, palms down, on the surface of the table. His face was solemn. His eyes unwavering.

"Ria," Peter said, "tell me who Marc is."

XXXX

There was absolute silence at the table.

I saw Anthony turn towards me, a mixture of confusion and horror crossing his features. George looked grave suddenly, and his eyes flickered between Peter and I.

Michel just looked confused.

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands.

"Didn't I tell you," I asked Peter without looking up, "that you didn't want to ever know?"

"Yes. I think you're wrong. I want to know."

I looked up, but Anthony spoke up for me.

"No, Peter, I think she's right. I don't think this is something that you need, or want, to know."

I flicked a grateful glance towards my cousin.

But Peter wasn't giving up.

"I think," he said, looking grimly determined, "that if my fiancée is spouting bullshit about some Marc guy the night before her wedding, I want to know." His eyes swelled with anger. "I think I have a right to know."

I shook my head. "Marc is in the past Peter."

But my sister fiancée just looked at me coolly. "He's not so in the past if you two are still fighting about him." He leaned forward in his chair, and I saw his whole face turn angry. It seemed to sharpen before my eyes, turn vicious. "Look, I don't know what the _fucks_ going on between you two, but you've been at each others throats from the moment you got here. I don't care what you're issues are, but the moment it starts to impact on my wedding they become my issues to. And I want to know Dammit, _who is Marc_?"

I stared at him in silence, knowing he was right.

But Anthony was still shaking his head. George was looking at me.

"This is some heavy shit, Ria. Think carefully," he told me.

I met his eyes and nodded. George had always been the careful one. The more serious one.

Michel was silent beside me. But that wasn't anything unusual. Except that it was a stiff sort of silence. The kind that you have when you know that someone is about to say something that will change something forever.

But this wasn't about Michel, I thought. This was about Bethany and Peter and their marriage. And if something in mine and Beth's past was going to interfere with that…well, as much as I despised my sister, I didn't want to destroy her marriage. Not completely anyway. This had to be said no matter what, no matter what might happen with Michel because of it.

I took a deep breath and looked at Peter. He was watching me expectantly. But there was trepidation in his gaze now, and I wondered if his resolve was as strong as a few moments ago.

"Are you sure?" I asked him.

He nodded jerkily.

I sighed and pushed my hair back from my face.

"Fine."

The table was silent. Anthony and George looked anxious, were watching me with worried eyes. I stared at Anthony and opened my mouth to begin.

But a new voice interrupted me.

"Marc," Bethany said from the doorway, as we all turned to look at her, "is Ria's ex boyfriend and my ex-lover." I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming next. "And he's dead."

XXXX


	36. The Unfortunate Truth

Chapter 36

**Heyyy, looooong chapter here folks. And sorry to all those sex fiends who are waiting for "tonight" haha. It did get a little angsty, but hopefully not unbearably so! I CAN promise "tonight" in the next chapter or so! **

**Chapter 36 **

Only silence greeted, _could_ greet, that simple statement.

Anthony and George knew the whole story of course, had even met Marc a few times. Neither of them had liked him, but his death had shocked them just as it had shocked Bethany and myself. Perhaps even more so. Bethany and I had been too caught up is ourselves to really understand the sicking finality of his passing.

In some ways, I don't think either of us yet understood fully.

Michel said nothing, but his hands pressed lightly against the skin on the back of my neck, and I could tell by his sudden intake of breath that he hadn't expected _that_. I was pretty sure that he had never considered anything like this in my past. Until this trip, I'd just been shiny, happy Ria. A problem family was a distant flaw.

I swallowed.

Not so distant anymore.

Peter looked ashen, and his eyes followed Bethany as she moved to sit at the other end of the table from him.

I watched the decision shape his face, and the sorrow that began to cloud his eyes as colour slowly returned to his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Bethany," he whispered throatily, "but I still need to know."

Like a tennis match, we all turned out heads towards Bethany. She looked tired now, the cold determination gone, replaced by an achy resignation.

"I understand," she said, meeting her fiancé's eyes. "I do."

It must have been the most mature thing I'd ever heard her say.

"But," she continued, "Marc isn't just my story." Her eyes swivelled to me, and I shrank back from her stare. It had been gentle a moment before, now it was flinty. "I think Ariana can begin. Since she," her mouth curled in the semblance of a sneer," knew him _first_."

It was a nasty reference to our pissing contest upstairs. I glared at her, and then glanced around the table.

Anthony and George both looked at me, their eyes troubled. Their expressions were identical, and I would have found it comical if I hadn't been so worried.

Michel reached with his other hand and took mine, holding it firmly and rubbing his thumb in circles on my wrist.

"I met marc," I began, "at high school."

"_Hey," a voice said behind me. _

_I turned, looking at the groggy eyed male standing a little while away. _

"_I'm new here, and I don't think I can find my class room." He glanced down at the timetable in his hand, his brows drawing together in a puzzled frown. _

_Around me, my group of friends giggled. "We'll see you at lunch Ari," they called as they walked away. _

_The guy looked at me sheepishly. "Sorry, I've always been hopeless with timetables." _

_I smiled at him, and he smiled back hesitantly. It was a lop-sided smile, as if one corner of his mouth didn't quite work. He really was cute, dark haired and dark eyed, though I suspected the haziness of his stare didn't come from just sleep. He had a thin, wiry build, a lean lankiness only accentuated by his height. He towered above me. _

"_Whats your name?"_

_His smile widened a little. "Marc. And you're Ari, right?"_

"_Ariana," I corrected. "Only _they_ call me Ari."_

"_And what does everyone else call you?"_

_I looked at him thoughtfully. "Ria," I said finally. "Everyone else calls me Ria."_

_I held out my hand for the timetable and he handed it to me gratefully. "Come on, I'll show you around."_

"From that day," I told my audience, "we started talking more. Hanging around. He was nice, weird, and always a little off. Like he was on a different radar to everyone else. I never really understood him, and looking back, I realise just how much I didn't understand him. But it never stopped us. It was like free-fall. I wanted the rush." I sighed. "For the first time in my life, I wanted the rush of not knowing what was going to happen."

Peter stared at me. "And what happened then?"

I looked at Bethany. She had a peculiar look in her eyes. Wistful, almost. I realised I'd never told her how we met. What he was like at school. What he was like as a friend. She never would have known it. They were more free-fall than I was.

I turned back to Peter. "Then," I answered him quietly, "we started dating."

_The music was too loud. It was too hot. Sweaty. Too many bodies, moving together, pressing up close. I evaded wandering hands, wrinkling my nose in disgust. How did people enjoy this? I lifted the beer to my mouth and took a sip, forcing myself not to shudder. _

_I hand clamped down on my shoulder and I turned around. _

_Marc grinned his lop-sided grin at me. _

"_Hey you," he said, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes and looking at me with his hazy eyes. _

_I smiled up at him. "Hey. You want this?" I lifted up my beer. _

_He grimaced. "I don't drink."_

_The beer had made my tongue loose. I flicked my eyes at him mischievously. _

"_What _do_ you do?"_

_He was unfazed, and he stumbled closer to me as someone shoved past him. His smile was uncaring, a little wicked. I felt my heart begin to beat faster. "Everything else."_

_I didn't question his answer, I had already known it. _

_We stood in silence for a time, letting people move around us, crashing like waves against the wall and against our backs. The music beat moved us, slipped up from the floor into our bodies. My heart beat with it. My breathing grew faster even as I just stood there in silence, Marc only an inch or so away. _

"_So," Marc finally, pulling my attention away from my own body and back to himself. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, I noticed for the first time. He must have been boiling. "You enjoying this?"_

_I glanced around us. I knew all these people here from school. They were different now, in his bleary heat, their faces distorted, their bodies loose, unattached. Their eyes were predators eyes. Their hands claws. They watched me, some of them. More of them watched Marc. _

"_Well," Marc let out a breath of air and raked his fingers through his hair, "you wanna split then?"_

"_Its only 10:30."_

"_I didn't say I'd take you home," he smiled down at me again. That smile from before. Uncaring, wicked. Almost vicious. His eyes were sharper and clearer than I'd ever seen them. "You up for it?" There were layers of meaning in that question. _

_I forced myself to shrug my shoulder nonchalantly. But my eyes skitted away from him nervously. "Sure."_

"_Well then," He said. "Let's go."_

_He took me to a park. _

_I knew the park, everyone did. It was Make-Out Park. Mainly because it was away from the main-road and the police didn't usually run past. _

_He cut the motorcycle engine and I climbed off, wobbling a little on unsteady legs. _

_He was beside me in an instant, his arms steadying me. _

"_You okay?"_

_I nodded, leaning against his chest, pathetically grateful for his warmth. I hadn't dressed practically tonight. I'd been thinking of Marc when I dressed. A short scarlet dress. Spaghetti straps. Stiletto heels._

_I wondered if he appreciated it. _

"_I'm fine." _

_He took my hand, and tucked his keys deep into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled something out of a compartment in the back of the motorbike. "Come on," he said, "let's go sit down."_

_The sky was light, the moon illuminating the trees and the grass. Shadows spilled across our pat like inky pools of night. In this light, everything was silvery, other-worldly. Nothing seemed real. _

_He helped me seat, and I cuddled close to him. It was freezing. The grass blades were licked in moist dew, and I felt it seep through my dress. _

"_It's freezing," I stammered. "And wet." _

"_I bought a blanket." He stood again to spread it out, and I hopped on it gratefully. He pulled me into his arms, his chin resting against my head. _

_Silence was all around us, stiffening and nervous, a prancing atmosphere that couldn't be still. It made all my legs and arms jittery. I felt weak and young next to him and his solid strength, the steady warmth of his arms where they wrapped around me from behind. _

_I shifted uncomfortably. _

"_Whats wrong?" he asked me. I felt his chin move against the top of my head as he talked. _

_I hesitated. "Nothing."_

_He turned me in his arms, so I was crouched awkwardly next to him, facing him. _

"_Really?" he looked sceptical. "So then it's alright if I do this?"_

_His thumb moved against my bare arm. "Do what?"_

"_This," he whispered, and then bent his head and kissed me. _

"_Ria," he said much later, his breath ragged. His body moved on mine. "Are you sure this is alright?"_

_I swallowed my fear. _

_This was Marc._

_What else did I have to give him?_

"_Yes," I said finally. _

_He sighed against my skin._

_Afterwards, we lay in each others arms. _

_I had put my dress back on; it was too chilly without it. I lay back against Marc's chest, his legs surrounding me._

"_So," he said finally, and his breath blew against my skin. "Was it good?"_

_I didn't hesitate in my answer. "Yes." I ignored the ache in my chest at the lie. Mabye it would be better next time. _

_He seemed to sense my confusion. "It will be better next time," he promised, echoing my thoughts. _

_I made myself ask the question, it was burning my throat. "Does this mean that we're…together?"_

_A slight pause. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't cared so much. _

"_If you like."_

_It was better than rejection. _

_I snuggled closer to him. _

"_I like."_

"We dated for a bit less than 2 years," I told Peter, keeping my eyes firmly on him. Michel had removed his hand from my neck, and I felt the loss. But his hand was still in mine. A good sign, I hoped. After all, who liked to hear the girl they liked talking about an ex-lover?

"We were the It couple at school. The stoner and the princess, people called us. I was his healing kiss, and all that rubbish. He said he loved me, I said I loved him." I shrugged. "I didn't realise it was true, what I was feeling, until much later." I glanced at Bethany. "Much too late." Her gaze was unwavering. "And at the time, it was expected. We played our parts well. I couldn't have imagined then…." I sighed. "Things happened. Things were said. We parted angry, I went out with my friends, not thinking he'd go to my house. I never even considered he might apologise. That he might be looking for me." I stared at my sister. "And when I did come home, well, apology was the furthest thing from his mind wasn't it?"

"_Hello?" I called, stepping inside the house and looking around._

_Marc's car was outside, despite it being almost midnight. _

_The door had been un-locked, someone was home. Someone had let him in. _

"_Hello? Bethany, are you there? Marc?"_

"Up until this point," I said, my eyes still on Bethany. This story had been for her, more than Peter, more than anyone else at the table. "Up until this point, Bethany and I had gotten along fine hadn't we?"

She nodded, her face twisted.

Peter was staring at us.

"Up until this point, I had faith in my sister. It was in all the rule books Bethany. Sisters don't sleep with their sister boyfriends do they?"

I could almost taste the tension at the table.

"_Do they_?"

I was angry. Far angrier than I had been a moment before. But we weren't just talking about Marc here. We were talking about Michel as well.

Slowly, I watched her shake her head, the understanding in her eyes painful.

"No," she replied quietly, "they don't."

But there was still no apology in her eyes.

I saw the expression in them. They said too cleary, _but it was me he wanted. _

"_Bethany?" I climbed the staircase. "Marc?"_

_At the top of the stairs I looked both ways down the hall. _

_I heard voices. Mum and dad weren't home, were away for the weekend. It had to be Bethany. _

"_Beth?"_

_I neared the door to her room. The voices were louder now, giggling. _

_A strange feeling over took me, like I was walking through water rather than air. I reached out my hand to the door handle, and already, a part of me knew what I would fine. _

_I turned the handle. _

"_Bethany?" I said, as I pushed open the door, "what are you-"_

_I stopped in the doorway, frozen. _

_They lay on her bed, arms and legs entangled, sheets drawn up over them. They were both naked. _

_As I stood there, staring, Bethany turned lazy eyes on me, and a slow smile spread across her face. _

"_What the hell are you _doing_?" I gasped. _

_I looked at Marc, his heavily lidded eyes more dazed than usual. _

"_What the hell is going on?"_

_But he only stared at me, his features tinged lightly with guilt, and that was all. _

"_Ria," he said, his hand reaching out to curl carelessly around Beth's shoulders, "I think…we need to talk." _

_His words were slurred and heavy, his face paler than usual. I had an image of someone drowning, struggling for breath. _

_I stared at them both. "You don't fucking say."_

_Bethany rolled her eyes at Marc, idly tickling a hand along his stomach. _

"_Oh Ria stop being so _dramatic_, its not that big a deal."_

_I felt the horror of it wash over me, and I backed up, my hand still clutching the door knob. _

_I slammed it shut._

_Neither of them came after me. _

"That's not true," Bethany cut in, "I came after you."

I sighed. "Two weeks _later_, Beth. It didn't make a difference by that stage."

"I said I was sorry." A sneer twisted her lips, made her face almost ugly. "It wasn't my fault that he wanted _me_."

"You were the one that crawled into bed with him."

Her eyes were angry. "You can't lay all the blame on me, Ria. He wasn't exactly innocent in all this either."

"You are my _sister_."

"He was your _boyfriend_."

I stared at her. "And I deserve equal amounts of loyalty from both of them don't you think?"

Agreeing silence rocked the table.

Peter was pale again, and he stared at Bethany disbelievingly. "You slept with Marc?" he demanded incredulously.

She rolled her eyes, but she looked defensive now. "No, Marc slept with _me_."

"It's the same thing," Michel blew up at her. "It's exactly the same damn thing."

"Then we should both bear her anger don't you think? Not just me?" her eyes turned to me, savage now, "except, oh that's right, _Marc's dead_."

Peter, his face pale, looked at me again. "I think you should tell us the rest of the story now."

"I can only speak it from what I know. It was Bethany who knew him best in the following weeks."

Peter looked determined. "I want to know the rest. Tell me what you know." I wondered if he would believe Bethany now, if she told him her side.

"Fine," I said. "From what I know, they were together three weeks before I…" I paused. Hesitated. Bethany had been the villain until now. I was about to take her place. "…Until I told our parents."

"_I can't believe you would do this to me!" Bethany's eyes were tear-streaked, her face a mixture of hopelessness and rage. "I can't believe you! You vicious bitch!" She reached out and shoved me, pressing me back against the hallway wall. "You know they won't let me see him now? Because they think he's some…some _freak_?!"_

"_He is a freak," I retorted. "He's out of mind. Literally. And you're out of your mind if you haven't realised that!"_

"_Oh," she hissed in my face, "so this is all just for my own protection is it? This isn't some sort of spite thing? Just because your boyfriend decided he liked experience more than fumbling innocence?"_

_I stared at her. She was right, but I wasn't about to admit it. "Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. "This is all for your protection."_

_She shoved me harder, and I gasped in pain. _

"_Yeah fucking right, Ria! You are such full of _bullshit_! You're just like mum and dad!" She flung the next words at me carelessly, "you're just jealous."_

_And then she stormed away, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. _

_I stared after her. _

"_Yes," I whispered finally, "yes I am."_

"You were jealous." It wasn't a question. Bethany was just stating a point of fact.

I raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you be?" I asked dryly. "My boyfriend. My first _real_ boyfriend, and he slept with you."

The others at the table were silent, watching and waiting. I was talking only to my sister now.

"He was my first everything Beth. First date. First kiss. First fuck." I stared at her. "First _love_." Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing. "You'd be jealous. If it were you."

She pressed her lips so tightly together they were white at the edges. Finally, she spoke.

"I was jealous," she told me finally. "Of everything you had."

It wasn't a surprise to me.

"You wanted it."

She shook her head. "No. That's something you've never understood. I didn't want everything you had. I just didn't want _you_ to have it."

"But Marc was the exception."

She nodded jerkily. "Marc was the exception." Her eyes were distant. "He always was."

Peter spoke up. "And then what? What did his death have to do with the both of you?"

We both looked at him. And I noticed for the first time how different Peter was to Marc. As far as I knew she'd never been serious about anyone else after Marc. Peter was the first. Or the second, depending which way you looked at it. Peter, with his blonde hair and clean face, looked like the Prefect, the straight-a student who was just slightly out of everyone's league.

I studied him thoughtfully.

Was Bethany _still_ trying to escape Marc?

"_Nothing_," Anthony answered for us. "His death had absolutely nothing to do with either of them." He flung us both an exasperated glance. "It was just an accident is all. Could have happened to anyone."

"Anthony," George said quietly. "Let them speak. You can't always protect them."

"It _was_ an accident," Anthony insisted stubbornly. "It was an accident and you know it. And you damn well that Ria's always blamed herself for the death and Bethany's always blamed Ria. How can you just sit there and let them destroy themselves?"

George was unmoving. "Let them speak," he said again, his voice quiet but firm.

Peter moved his eyes to me. Like Bethany, they were distant.

"Tell me."

I sighed, and began again.

"After I told my parents about Marc's drug-taking, and they forbid Bethany from seeing him, they took to sneaking out together." I glanced at Bethany for confirmation and she nodded. "I'd never said anything; things were bad as it was, without me interfering any more…"

"Then maybe you should have kept your fucking mouth shut," Bethany snapped.

"Bethany," Peter warned.

"But one night, Marc was…worse…than usual. I found him in the backyard when I went to take out the trash. He was just sitting there on the lawn."

"_Marc?" _

_I approached the seated figure, my heart beating rapidly. _

_He didn't look up. _

"_Marc?" I stepped closer. "Marc what are you doing here? You know if my parents catch you…"_

_He still didn't move. _

_I crouched down beside him. His head hung down, his legs were drawn up to his chin. I reached out to touch him gently on the shoulder and he flinched away. _

_I let my arm drop._

"_Marc, Bethany's not here tonight. You know that." It was painful to say the words, and they almost caught in my throat. But what was he doing here? Didn't he understand what could happen if mum and dad caught him? _

_Finally, he spoke. "I know she's not here." His words were slurred, more so than usual, like he couldn't control his tongue or his lips to mouth them properly. _

_He still didn't raise his head. He was only wearing a short-sleeved shirt. In the cold of the night, his skin was all goose-bumps. _

_I frowned at him and stood up. "Then what are you doing here? You know I don't want you here. You're with Beth now." My voice sounded vicious, more than I liked. I tried to swallow my anger, tried to regain my cool. _

_He was silent for a long while, but just as I gathered myself to leave, he raised his head. I gasped at his face. It was a mass of cuts and bruises. His eyes were full of their usual bleariness, but there was a kind of insanity to them now and there were deep shadows beneath them._

"_Dear god what happened to you?"_

_He shrugged. "Just some guys." His eyes tried to focus on me, but they kept slipping away. "I just wanted to see you…"His eye-lids were droopy and tired. _

_I stared at him. "What are you on?"_

_He shrugged again, but the movement was slow and looked painful. "Just…some…" he coughed, "…some stuff."_

_I felt a surge of sudden disgust. "Why are you here?" _

_He put his head back on his knees. "I told you…" he whispered, "I told you I told you I told you I wanted to see you."_

_I took a step back, a wash of unease rising and pouring through me. "Why?"_

_He raised his head and shook it side to side. "Because," he whispered more quietly, "Because…because I think we made a mistake…"_

"_What?"_

"_I think…" He coughed again. "I think we made a mistake. With Bethany." A familiar sneered curled up the sides of his mouth. "Fucking fucking fucker Bethany."_

_I felt horror slowly rise, felt my face turn pale. "No Marc, you're high. You don't know what you're saying."_

_He raised his head again and laughed, but it was an odd sound, and made my blood run cold. "No, No Ria, no not high. Not high anymore." He shook his head. "Not high enough these days."_

"_Marc…"_

"_We made a mistake," he said again, staring at me with his crazed eyes. "We made a big big big mistake." He laughed again. _

_I shook my head and backed up another step. _

"_No Marc, _you_ made a mistake. Not me. _You_."_

"_Not me, You. You, Marc." He sneered at me, mocking my words. "You. Not me. You." His tired eyed filled with fury suddenly. "Fine! Fucking….fucking fine! I made the fucking mistake now can we fucking go…go…" he subsided in his rage. "Fuck Bethany," he finally mumbled. _

_I turned towards the house to walk away. My whole body was shaking. With fear and anger and horror. What had he become? _

_He called out to me. "Riiiiiiiiiaaaaa," his voice was high. "Oh Riaaaaaaaaa…"_

_I turned on him then. "Get the fuck out of here Marc," I screamed, "just get the _fuck_ away from me!" Tears filled my eyes, spilled over. "Just leave!" I swiped angrily at the tears. "And don't ever fucking come back!"_

_His laughter filled the air behind me. "You're going to make me drive like this?" he laughed again. _

_I stared at him, beyond thought, beyond thinking. _

"_Yes!" I yelled, "Yes I'm going to make you drive like that! Now get the hell away from me! I hope your fucking car crashes and burns!"_

_And then I ran away, into the house._

"And I never saw him again." I shook my head. "If I had known how prophetic those words would be…" I shuddered. "If I had known, I _swear_ to god, I swear on my life, I never would have said them."

Peter was ashen again.

Michel, by my side, was holding my hand tightly, and his palm was clammy. I glanced at him. He was pale like Peter, and his eyes, looking at me, were filled with a mixture of shock and pity.

Anthony and George were silent.

I looked at Bethany. Her face was drawn, her eyes filled with pain. I'd never told her about the fight. Never told her the truth about what he had said, why I had driven him away.

"He wasn't himself," I told her quietly. "He didn't know what he was saying."

She shook her head slowly, and for once, there was no hostility in her gaze.

"No. He knew what he was saying. He was always most honest when he was out of it." She looked away from me, and her lips tightened. "I'd known for a few days then that he wanted you back."

I had nothing to say to that, and I kept silent. The rest was her story.

"I'd been out that night, with the girls. We'd met up with some guys, had some fun." Her eyes were on me, focused and intent. "You have to understand, I knew I'd lost him at that point. But I wasn't about to go begging him to come back. I still had pride. But when I came home, and you were there, crying and shaking, I knew he'd come to you, and I just…" She paused. "Lost it. I lost it. You, my perfect little sister, sweet 16, had won him back. And there I was, some pathetic loser, drunk and broken and angry…."

Her eyes were vicious suddenly. "But I won't apologise for what I said that night. Not any of it," she snarled. "Because I'm not sorry. Marc still died." She was whispering suddenly, and her eyes were cruel. "Marc still died. And it was all because of you."

Michel, who had been sitting quietly, stirred to my defence. "Back off," he snapped, "It wasn't her fault at all. He was a broken arsehole who got some sort of sadistic amusement out of playing to sisters against each other."

Anthony and George nodded their agreement.

Peter only turned his eyes towards me. "Is that it?"

I nodded. "The police came the next morning to tell Bethany. I hid behind a door and listened. He'd totalled his car, and died almost instantly. The heroin was killing him anyway."

"Oh so that makes it alright then does it?" Bethany rose from her chair, her hands flat against the table. She leaned towards me, her eyes filled with rage. "That's alright that he died because of you because he was _going to die anyway_?"

I met her gaze coldly. "No. I was just telling the truth."

She screamed at me. "You know what the fucking truth is," she spat out the words. "The truth is that I _loved_ him. He was the first guy and only guy I've ever loved. _Ever_. And you took. Him. Away. From me." She punctuated each word with a hit against the table.

I saw Peter's face go red with shock and anger. He stood up, facing her.

"What the hell is this?" he snarled, "are you saying this weddings a mistake? Because of some dickhead from high school?"

She turned on him with a savage snarl. "_No_," she yelled at him, her voice screaming pain and fury, "I'm not saying the weddings a mistake. Im saying that if it weren't for her," she flung her hand towards me, "it would be Marc standing there reciting his vows, not _you_!"

And then she shoved her chair back and stalked out of the kitchen.

A heavy silence descended on the kitchen.

Reeling with shock and confusion, peter turned to me.

I looked at him, my lips parted, and the words stuck in my throat. I had nothing to say.

Michel squeezed my hand gently and faced my sister fiancé.

"A lot of the past has been brought up today," he told the hurting quietly. "She's not herself. Go easy on her."

Peter blinked at him. "She just told me she's never loved me."

"She's hurting. She's lost in the past. She doesn't know what she's saying." Michel's voice was calm.

He was silent a long time, then; "She was always most honest when she was out of it." It was a mockery of her earlier words, and I saw the painful decision in his gaze as he said them. He shook his head slowly. "I don't think, considering all of this, that there will be a wedding tomorrow." And he left the room quietly, pausing only once to look back at me.

I caught the look and felt tears prick my eyes.

Blame had been hurtled again, jostled like dice. And once again, it had all landed at my feet.

XXX


	37. The Consequences

"Ria," Michel said, touching my shoulder gently

**Chapter 37 **

"Ria," Michel said, touching my shoulder gently. I still sat at the table, my hands pressed flat on the surface, staring down at the wood. "Ria, lets go to the garden. I think we should all get some fresh air."

Anthony and George murmured their agreement.

Michel helped me stand, his hands firm beneath my shoulders. He draped my arm around him, holding me tight about the waist. I didn't tell him that I could walk fine. I wanted his warmth. Needed his warmth.

Here were the only three people I knew who didn't blame me for Marc's death. Or two people maybe. You never knew with George.

Mum and Dad didn't count. Bethany and I had never told them.

In the garden, Michel gently sat me in the love seat, and sat down beside me. George and Anthony took the swinging chair opposite us.

I glanced at the twins. Anthony looked shell-shocked and disenchanted. I wondered how long he'd tried to hold on to the idea that Bethany and I were fine, and our rivalry with one another didn't go any deeper than normal.

George was expressionless, his eyes were careful.

"You know the strange thing is," I said finally, breaking the blanket of silence, "Marc wouldn't be so important now, if he had just dumped Bethany and faded out of our lives." I shook my head. "If only that dick hadn't died, everything would be fine."

He left our lives in a whirlpool of hate and blame, I thought to myself, and neither Beth nor I knew how to get out.

"We would never have loved him so much, if he hadn't died."

Michel pulled my close to him, so I was flush with his body.

"It wasn't your fault Ria," he told me softly. "Whatever you had said to him that night, he still would have left eventually. He still would have crashed his car. He still would have died."

I sighed and rested my head against his shoulder, not really hearing his words.

"It's not even Marc that's the problem," I said, talking more to myself than to them. "It was everything that happened after." I felt tears prick my eyes. "We were never subtle about it. After Marc, we wanted to destroy each other."

"Perfectly understandable," George said, his voice dry and unamused. "The both of you have always operated beyond the realms of common sense."

"George," Anthony admonished quietly. "Let her be."

"Oh fuck off Anthony. I'm so _sick_ of this Marc shit. It's been hovering over our heads for years; they've both been in mourning for years. Don't you think its time they both snapped out of it?"

"I think you should show a little respect man, she's had a hard time." Michel's voice was angry and indignant.

"That's your problem, the both of you. You're so caught up in your damn love for her you can't see reason. You can't see what they're really doing to yourselves." George sounded angrier than I'd ever heard him, and I shrank back against Michel.

"Oh so what, you're saying you don't love her?" Anthony snapped angrily.

"No," George bit out in reply. "I love Ria. Mabye even more than the both of you. Because I love her _sensibly_."

Michel stiffened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Can't you fucking see? Ria's been dealing with this shit for years. Ever since she was 16. What she needs right now isn't a supporting arm and a shoulder to cry on, she needs strength man. Because she needs to get past this bullshit and grow the fuck up. If she can't see now that it wasn't her fault that Marc was a heroin-addict who couldn't drive, she'll never see it. And there's no amount of tears or self pity that can make her see it."

The truth in those words wrung them all to silence, and I pushed myself up from Michel's arm.

He met my eyes defiantly, and I saw a flicker of uncertainty in them.

I smiled at him hesitantly, and understood.

George hadn't said all that to anger to me. He hadn't said because he was angry.

He was just trying a new way to get through to me.

"Nice try, cousin," I said finally, and I saw the relief in his face before he washed it away with a scowl.

"I wasn't joking Ria."

"I know. It almost worked to."

His scowl was real now.

"_Almost_ worked?"

I sighed. "You just want me to accept I had nothing to do with his death and move on." He nodded. "But don't you see that I _can't_? I have to take some responsibility here, George. A man _died_. A man with a family and a girlfriend and a future. And you just expect me to take all that lightly? What I need isn't to get over it, George. What I need is to accept that I did play a part in his death. What I need is to heal this rift with my sister. Then I can move on."

The scowl subsided, became a small smile. "It sounds like you're already half way there."

I shrugged. "I've been working on it for years. I know it was partly my fault. I just need to accept it. And," I rolled my eyes, "then there's _Bethany_."

"Isn't there always," Anthony muttered, still looking cross with his twin.

"But don't you see that I've done it again? She was right. I ruin everything for her. Now I've gone and ruined her wedding."

"It wasn't you who said the words," Michel snapped at me, looking angry with both George and I.

"But I partly put them in her mouth. She wasn't ready to confront Marc. And she wasn't ready to hear what I had to say." I shrugged. "I should have been more sensitive."

My gaze shifted up to the house, to the window of Bethany's bedroom. "Much more sensitive."

Anthony glared at me. "And there you go again, taking all the blame." He looked at George. "You see it now? Bethany's just playing with her. I wouldn't be surprised if this all turned out to be some elaborate game she's playing with all of our minds." He grimaced. "That's the Bethany _I_ know."

George was looking at me thoughtfully. "Even if you did push her over the edge," he said thoughtfully, "I think it turned out well. All things considering."

Michel's arm tightened around me. "You're joking right," he said to my cousin flatly. "You call this turning out _well_?"

Anthony grinned, but there was no humour in his eyes. "It shows how new you are to the family. There haven't been any injuries or broken walls. And look on the bright-side, atleast everyone knows the truth now."

"_That's_ the bright side?"

George looked away. "Everyone's gone off to lick their wounds." His eyes returned to mine. "There are some things this family needs more than a wedding. Healing is one of them."

"I bet Bethany wouldn't see it that way," Michel muttered.

"No," George agreed, "she probably wouldn't. And until she does, I think we should all just keep our distance."

I nodded enthusiastically. I'd keep my distance no worries. A trip to the hospital wasn't very high on my To-Do list.

"In the mean-time," Michel sighed with the resigned air of some-one giving up on an argument he would never win, "lets go for a swim."

XXXX

I changed into my bikini upstairs and when I came down again, it was only Michel sitting by the edge of the pool.

"Anthony and George went out for coffee," he told me, answering my unspoken question. He grinned appreciatively at my out-fit, or lack of. "Nice," he commented, and then stripped to his boxers and dived into the water.

I watched him silently for a moment, then hopped in after him.

We swam our own laps for a time, both of us lost in thought.

I was trying not to think about Bethany and the last hour, but Georges words kept resonating though me. _There are some things this family needs more than a wedding. Healing is one of them._

I understood his words, and what he meant.

Our little family unit of four couldn't go on like this. Bethany and I needed to understand one another and move on. Mum and Dad needed to be taken out of the dark and told exactly what had been going on for the last few years.

And somehow, it didn't seem fair that after all of this, I was the one that had Michel, while Bethany had lost her fiancé.

I reached the end of the pool and stopped.

Michel was already there, resting against the side of the pool, his arms spread out along the sides.

I tried not to stare, and failed miserably.

He looked soggy and wet and delicious.

His grin was a little arrogant. "If you keep looking at me like that I can't be held responsible for my actions," he murmured mildly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you want to be?"

He just laughed, throwing his head back a little so his adam's apple throbbed against the skin of his neck.

_Argh_, I thought. _Drool_.

Then his laughter stopped, and his eyes turned serious.

"Ria," he began quietly, but I moved around in front of him and placed my hands over his mouth, halting his next words.

"Not now," I whispered, leaning in close. "I don't want to think about any of this now."

And then I swapped my hand on his mouth for my lips.

XXXX

"Ria," he gasped against my mouth a little later, "stop."

I raised my head and stared him in the eye. I was flush with his body, my legs pressing tight against his waist, and I felt his hardness against my thigh. It made everything in my throb with need.

"Why?" My voice was hoarse. I didn't mind.

I swooped down and caught his lips again.

He tore his mouth away.

"Because I don't want it to be like this," he groaned. His hands gripped the pool sides as I trailed a finger suggestively down his bare chest.

"Like what?" I murmured. I hooked a finger inside his boxer shorts and pressed my mouth against his neck, smiling at his quick intake of breath.

"Like _this_," he said, unclamping his hands from the tiles and wrapping them tight around me. "You're hurting Ria. I don't want this to be some sort of sympathy fuck."

I pulled back from him instantly, hating the cold water that rushed in between our bodies, filling the gap, and refusing to move back against him.

"Are you saying you _pity_ me?" My voice was dangerously low, all trace of desire gone.

"No." He raked a hand through his hair. "No, god…_no_." His eyes shifted to mine unhappily. "That was just a poor choice of words. It's just…" he hesitated. "Marc's still here Ria. A lot of shit has happened today. I just want…I want our first time to be perfect you know? Not under the over-hang of an old boyfriend."

I almost understood him.

Almost.

"You don't want me now? Is that it? Because of Marc?"

He stared at me, then reached out and pulled me tight against him. "How can you say that?" he demanded quietly in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. "You _know_ I want you. God I have forever. But I want _you_, Ria. I want you without Marc's shadow, and without Beth, and without the tears in your eyes whenever you talk about him." He shook his head at me, and his hug became gentle suddenly, less vicious and passionate. "I know you loved him Ria. I can see that. So can you understand why I don't want this now? I don't want to be compared to another man." He smiled at me sheepishly, "and if we keep going on like we were just going, I'm going to lose control."

I sighed and rested my forehead against his own. "I wish you would," I muttered honestly. "I wish we both just lost control for once."

He tucked me close to him, and I felt his mouth curve against the skin of my cheek. "You told me you wanted the free-fall once remember? But I'm not like that Ria. I'm not Marc. I can't offer you the free-fall." He pulled back and forced me to look at him. His eyes were sad. "I'm in it for the long run Ariana, not just the rush." He swallowed, and I saw the hint of fear and trepidation creep into his eyes. "And if that's not what you're after, then I think its best we just stop here."

I stared at him, hardly able to comprehend his words.

"Are you…breaking up with me?"

"No," he replied quietly. "I'm just putting my cards on the table. Letting you choose."

"Between what?" I felt like I was breaking inside, like something was being torn out of me, wrenched from my gasp.

"Between what you had, and what I can give you," he answered quietly.

I stared at him a long time.

My decision had been made years ago, I thought. The first time I'd turned from Callum to him.

"I want _you_ Michel," I said finally. "Only you."

His face filled with relief, then something else, a kind of wondering happiness that made everything within me stir in response.

He pressed his face into my hair. "Thank god," he muttered thickly. "Thank fucking christ."

I laughed lightly. "So that means…not tonight?"

His hands snaked around to grasp my waist, pulled me tight against him. He was still aroused, even after all that talk.

"Not tonight," he agreed. "But soon." His hands tightened. "Very very soon."

XXXX

**Heyyy**

**Author Note here**

**I really hope you can forgive me for this! Haha I was tempted to let them just do it, FINALLY, but I guess it just didn't feel right. There's so much more that needs to be sorted between them, and like I said, I want it to be perfect. Not have them wake up the next morning and confront the same damn issues they'd been avoiding that night. Soooo…just a little bit more waiting. But I can promise lots of sexual frustration in that time, which is almost just as yummy! **


	38. The Night

**Sorry for such a short chapter!**

**Chapter 38**

Neither Beth nor Peter turned up for dinner that night. Mum and Dad made no mention of it, but from their red-rimmed eyes and bleary faces, I guessed they knew the reason.

Anthony and George were unusually quiet, their faces solemn.

Michel sat next to me, the only one with any hint of a smile on his face.

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop it," I hissed, forcing my own curling smile from my lips. "Look sad."

His lips quivered. "Not so easy," he replied just as quietly, leaning close so his breath whispered against the sensitive ridges of my ear, "considering our swim today."

I rolled my eyes. "Mind out the gutter, Michel."

He just shrugged and sat back, his face a little smug. He reached out and clasped my hand beneath the table.

The dinner continued in grave silence, broken only by the scrape of knife against plates, and the shifting of bodies on creaky wooden chairs.

"I just don't understand!" Mum burst out suddenly, slamming down her cutlery and pushing her chair back. "Someone tell me what the hell is going that it came too…too _this_!" Her breath choked in a sob and my father reached out his hand to her, touching her shoulder gently.

She fell against him. "My little girl," she cried, her words muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "Going to be…to be…married, and then…then…"

My father looked at us all, his eyes sweeping around the table. Then he jerked his head sharply at the door.

Silently obedient, we all stood up quickly and left the kitchen.

"Well," Anthony muttered as well all traversed to the lounge room and sunk into the cushiony lounge chairs, "I feel like a ten year old."

George quirked an amused eyebrow at his brother. "Getting kicked out of the kitchen does have a certain nostalgic feel to it," he agreed. Now they were clear of the kitchen, both their eyes had lost their gravity.

Anthony threw his head against the back of chair, closed his eyes, and sighed wistfully. "Oh how I miss the old times."

Michel, settling next to him, flung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I felt a deep contentment fill up inside of me. Last week, I would have scoffed at the thought of Michel showing affection to anyone.

I grinned as a new thought filled me. _Mabye he was just waiting for the right girl. _

Anthony opened one eye and stared at me. "What was that grin for?"

I forced my face back to blandness and changed the subject. "What do you think Beth told them?"

George looked over at me. "Who? You're parents?"

"Yes."

George shrugged. "My guess is that Peter told them. And probably not very much."

I sighed in relief, but George hadn't finished yet.

"They probably guessed the rest," he added lightly, his eyes placid.

"God, Really?" I groaned.

Anthony sat up straighter and grinned. "Honey, they're not stupid. They raised the two of you remember. I seriously doubt they're as oblivious as they seem."

Beside me, Michel snorted. "I'd worry if they were," he murmured under his breath.

I glared at him and he subsided quickly.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "Does that mean no sex tonight?"

I rolled my eyes and caught Anthony's delighted look. Ever the proud teacher.

George's eyes narrowed at his twin. "Have you been interfering again?" he asked threateningly, "Did our last conversation fall out of your mind?"

Anthony ignored the jibe sat forward, so his elbows rested on his knees. "Sorry," Anthony said to his brother sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes. "Does that mean no sex tonight?"

Disgusted and forcing back a shudder, George made a rude gesture and left the room, Anthony's laughter trailing behind.

"Is that," Michel asked, looking affronted, "supposed to be some sort of imitation of me?"

Anthony just smiled pleasantly at Michel and then turned to me. "I like this one Ariana Wilkins," he told me brightly, "I like this one a lot."

"I didn't realise I needed your go-ahead," I remarked dryly.

Anthony rose to his feet and shrugged, the grin still lingering about his lips. "You don't. But I can make life a hell of a lot easier for you if I like him." Then he left after his brother. Probably to bait him some more.

Michel watched him leave. When he looked at me, his eyes were thoughtfully. "They're very close aren't they?" It was less a question, more a statement, but I answered it anyway.

"They have to be," I told him tiredly, "with my family the way they are."

His silence all agreement.

XXXX

Michel forced me to take a long, warm bath that night. I almost convinced him to join me, but he stood firm.

"You need to relax, Ria." He told me, his eyes a little unsteady, but his voice clear. "And what I want to do to you right now isn't going to help you do that."

Shivering with anticipation, I let him go.

Now that I knew I had him, _would_ have him, I could afford to be generous. And relax.

I rested my head back against the edge of the bath and breathed deeply, forcing my eyes closed and my mind away from the day's events. Like hazy dreams, my thoughts drifted, flittering from one moment to the next, a tireless reel.

Who would have known, I thought with a small smile, that things ending with Callum could turn into such a good thing? If Callum hadn't cheated on me, it would probably be _me_ with my tummy round a full and a little Susie on the floor. Michel would be a once-friend, grown distant to a married life. Of that I had no doubt.

And where once such a scene had made me ache with wanting, now it just filled me with relief.

I wanted Michel now more than I had ever wanted Callum.

Not that I would admit that to him. Not for a long time. Things were still too delicate with us now. And far, far too fresh.

I sighed and opened my eyes. The steam from my bath wafted up in tendrils all around me, and beneath the bubbly surface of the water my body looked distorted. I ran a hand a hand through the water gently, watching the ripples grow and move outward. Then, with another sigh, I rose quickly, letting the water drip off me in cascading waterfalls before I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out of the bath.

Michel was already in bed when I emerged from the bathroom, clean and warm and wrapped in a fuzzy robe, my hair falling in silky, wet ropes down the side of my face.

He smiled at me and sat up a little, pushing the covers to his waist. He wore a t-shirt to bed this time. "I like you like that," he remarked softly, his voice gentle.

I raised my eyebrows sceptically. "What? In a grandma robe and no make-up?"

His eyes were clear, the message in them as simple as his answer. "Yes."

I rolled my eyes and climbed into bed next to him.

His hand reached out and clasped mine gently. "I'm serious Ria. I like you like this. Just you and me and-"

"-Only a robe between us?" I cut him off, laughing quietly. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"You never take me seriously." There was not an inch of sulkiness in his voice.

I reached out to him and patted my hand gently against his chest. "Whats this?" I asked, not bothering to hide my disappointment. I knew Michel preferred to sleep in as little as possible. I like feeling the heat of his skin against me when he held me close.

He shook his head at me. "Please? You actually think this is easy? This waiting?"

"It was your idea," I reminded him pointly.

"Doesn't make it easy," he retorted. "And I need all the help I can get."

"So it wouldn't make it any better if I did…say…._this_?" I tickled my hands gently down his chest, down his stomach, playing lightly along the hem of the shirt.

He sucked in a quick breath, his eyes darkening.

"No," he said, his voice sounding a little ragged, "that wouldn't make it much easier."

I smiled at him, slowly, and his breathing quickened. Very, very slowly, my hand inched under his hem, ran very lightly, just the tips of my fingers, across his warm skin, just below the belly button.

"What about this?" I whispered, my own voice turning husky.

His breathing was uneven now, his eyes almost desperate. He closed them for a long moment, and when they opened again, they were frighteningly determined. His hand clamped over mine, above the shirt, pressing my hand still against his skin.

"Ria," he said firmly, "we agreed on this."

It was hard to take him seriously when he had to make an effort to talk.

But I caught the message in his eyes and sighed. I pulled away from him and rolled over, switching off the bed-side light. He did the same, and we lay in the darkness for a long time, still, the only sound in the room our breathing and the distant hum of voices.

Idly, I wondered where Bethany was. And where Peter was sleeping.

Finally Michel heaved a deep, resigned sigh and snaked out his arm, hooking me around the waist and pulling me tight against him, my back to his chest, our legs near entangled.

"Go to sleep," he muttered into my hair, "And please, no more teasing."

In the darkness, even knowing he couldn't see me, I rolled my eyes, but obeyed.

No more teasing, I agreed silently to myself. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

After a while, lulled to weariness by the steady rhythm of our breathing and the warmth of the body at my back, I felt my lid grow heavy. And finally, in Michel's arms, I slept.

XXXX


	39. The Spiller of Secrets

Chapter 39

_So I have this thing…see I've written the first meeting of Michel and Ria. And I was wonderingggggg if any of you want to read it. As in, I can post it as another story if you like (just a one-off), just because I'm pretty sure it's not going to be in What You Need at all. BUT its written and its there… sooo…who wants it? _

**Chapter 39 – **

**Day 6 – Saturday**

I woke at 10am the next morning, and the silence of the house was ominous.

With a deep sigh, I rolled over. Next to me, the bed was empty; the sheets rumpled and still warm. Whoever had left had only left a few minutes ago. As I blinked more awake I heard the shower running.

I closed my eyes again and let myself slip back into slumber.

Best not to wake too soon.

I wasn't in the mood for the tantrums that the quiet house threateningly promised.

XXXX

A cold hand against my cheek woke me 2 hours later.

"Ria," Michel whispered in my ear, running the hand across my cheek and down my hair. "Wake up honey. We have company."

I groaned and rolled over. Pressed my face into the pillow.

"Ria…" Michel's hand moved to my shoulder, shook my gently. "Ria, Danielle Adams is here. Remember? You saw her at the coffee shop that time."

I groaned again. Grabbed Michel's hand and tried to drag him down to me. "Come," I commanded sleepily, and he choked back a laugh and pulled his hand back gently.

"Ria," he said, sounding a little exasperated, "Veronica and Callum are here to. In the lounge room. So are Anthony and George. And their mother." A pause. "And Danielle."

I rolled onto my back, blinking in the sunlight that spilled across the room. "All of them in the one room?" I said, squinting up at Michel.

He nodded sombrely. "And Bethany."

I sat up with a heavy sigh. "I guess I better go rescue her then." I imagined Daniella among my family. The poor girl. Among Bethany. The poor _poor_ girl.

"Fine," I said, shrugging out of the bed sheets and taking a pile of clothing Michel handed to me silently. "Just let me shower. Tell them I'll be right down."

He smiled at me, looking relieved. "Will do Cap'n," he said with a salute.

I rolled my eyes and pointed to the bedroom door, and he left, his shoulders loose and relaxed again.

The poor boy I thought. Saving Danielle from Bethany was no mean feat. And I suspected he'd done it more than once that morning.

XXXX

The moment I stepped into the lounge room, Bethany took one look at me and stormed out, Veronica trailing meekly in her wake.

I stood for a moment, hardly surprised, but still too tired to process it. Sleeping in Michel's arms hadn't the peaceful experience I'd thought. I'd suffered a lot that night. Mainly from erotic dreams. They'd kept waking me up to a reality that was far to close to my imaginary fantasies for my peace of mind. And peace of body.

With what must have been the 100th sigh that morning I stood in the doorway and quickly made a note of who was in, and out, of the room.

Peter, for one, was notably absent.

As were George, Anthony and their mother.

My own parents were conspicuous in their non-attendance.

Bethany and Veronica had made their opinions obvious about being within a 20foot radius of me.

Which left Michel, myself, Danielle Adams…and Callum.

He was sitting on the opposite lounge to Michel, looking mildly uncomfortable and as preppy as ever in his tan suite and good ol' boy smile, ruined only by his slightly green face and almost panicked expression.

I took a seat opposite him, at Michel's side, and moved my hand pointly into Michel's thigh.

Dani, bubbly in a pink floral dress, stood by the mantle-piece, looking for all the world like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Good morning," I greeted her politely, refraining from asking her the most obvious question, which was 'what the fuck are you doing here?'

She smiled at me, a little tremulously.

Michel bent close to me. "Bethany's been raking her claws all over her," she whispered softly in my ear. "I'm surprised she's still standing."

I glanced at him, then reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it gently.

"Why don't you sit down?" I offered, gesturing to the chair next to my couch. I smiled at her. "I won't bite, I promise. Things are just a little…tense…around here."

I glanced at Callum as I said this, and saw that he'd become even more green at my words. I frowned at him.

Dani tried for nonchalance, and shrugged as she took the seat. "Isn't it always?"

More than you realise, I thought.

"So…" I looked at both of them, "what's up?"

Dani fidgeted. "Well, I rang you're mother, just to…you know…check the date of the wedding." She glanced at me quickly. "Because, you know, last time I saw you you invited me. And well, she told me what happened." At her wince, I wondered how many sobs and tears had been involved in _that_ explanation. "And when I said I was a friend of yours she asked me to come over…to um…comfort you. I guess. Said you might need a friend."

Which meant, basically, that Dani had been ordered to the house.

I looked at her sympathetically. "I am so, so sorry," I said, the words more heartfelt than I thought I was capable of. "Really."

She sighed and smiled at me, a genuine smile. She pushed her brown hair back from her face. It was plain, pretty but bland; the blush on her cheeks a little overdone. "That's fine. Bethany wasn't…so bad." We shared a meaningful look that meant we both knew it had been the exact opposite. "I mean," she continued, forcibly brightly, "I'm not exactly Fat Dani any more am I?"

I winced. "My sisters such a bitch."

"Huh," Dani huffed. "Whats new."

I grinned, but when I looked over at Callum, my grin faded. "And what about you?" I wasn't nearly so nice as I'd been to Dani a moment ago. "Why aren't you out…fucking other women or something?"

I'd meant it as a reference to Veronica, an issue not exactly new between us, but for some reason his face just became even more sickly green, and the panicked expression in his eyes brightened considerably.

"Ria…" he choked. "I…I can explain."

I felt Michel stiffen beside me.

Dani looked confused.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Have we not already talked about this?"

He blanched. "Look…really…it was just…I was really vulnerable…and it just…happened…you know?"

I stared at him. "No," I said pointly. "I don't know. And I also don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Callum stared at me. "She…didn't tell you?"

_She_?

"Tell me _what_?"

He stood up shakily, and his eyes widened. He looked around, almost frantically. "Look…I have to…go. Meet peter. And um…meet Peter…"

"You've already said that," Dani pointed out sharply. Her eyes were narrow. Even Dani had picked up something wrong. Something very _very_ wrong.

Callum winced visibly.

"Right…because I um…"

"…have to meet peter?" Michel supplied sceptically, eyebrows raised, something akin to angry amusement dancing in his stormy eyes.

Callum just looked at him, then, saying nothing else, fled the room.

All three of us sat back.

"Well," Dani said finally, "_that_ was weird."

Yeah, I thought. Weird.

I looked over at Michel and his eyes met mine steadily.

It also had Bethany's paw prints all over it.

XXXX

Peter walked in 5 minutes later, and we were still sitting in silence.

We all looked up at him expectantly, and he took half a step back.

"What?" he asked worriedly, running a hand through his hair. It was messy, like he'd been running a hand through it all morning. His eyes looked tired, his cheeks were almost hollow. He looked like he hadn't eaten, slept, or drunk for days.

"Hasn't Callum found you?" Dani asked him.

"To…_meet_ you?" Michel added, his eyes narrowed. I looked at him appreciation. He was like a tamed panther. All bristling anger. Ready to snap to attention at a moment's notice, teeth clapping, eyes flashing. All male protectiveness. Who needs guard dogs, I thought, when you have a man about the house?

Peter looked bemused. "Callum's here? Why?"

Michel just looked at him. "He's here," he repeated slowly, "to _meet_ you."

I glanced at Dani and saw her mouth twitch a little.

"Oh." Peter glanced at me warily. "That's nice."

We all stared at him.

He took a full step back.

"Well then…I'll just be…um going. To um…meet Callum."

He turned on his heel and hurried away.

The moment he was gone, all three of us broke into laughter.

But it wasn't cheerful laughter. Not the easy laughter of friends. It had a tangy sickness to it, the moment before the storm, when you know you're going to hit it no matter what. The moment when you realise something big is heading you're way.

And there is no way to stop it.

For me personally, it was the laughter of hovering insanity.

My family would make anything and anyone insane.

And a new twist had just been added to the labyrinth mine of Bethany's and my relationship.

Something, I thought with a bemused, twisted smile, was about to go boom.

XXXX


	40. The Low of the Low

It was inevitable really, the talk between Callum and myself

_**Hey all**_

_**SO SORRY this took so long! I just had a heap of school work (still do, but eh) and I've been slack. To ALL of my stories, not just this one. Anyway. There were a few questions on both sites about chapter 39, so I thought I'd answer them here.**_

_**First of all, a few people said it was confusing, as they didn't understand the relationship between Callum and Peter. If you re-read chapter 1, it mentions that Callum is Peter's best man. Although I haven't developed their friendship at all, because they're both minor characters really, compared to the others, so I can understand the confusion. But yes, they are best mates. **_

_**And also, just a little reminder about the Callum/Ria relationship, as it was quite a while since I dealt with that in detail. **_

_**They were together for 2 years (from memory. What my plot-line says and what my story says tend to differ), and have been broken up for 2 years. (If anyone finds any of this un-matching to the story, please say!). Ria met Michel around the same time as she met Callum, about 6 months after, actually. **_

_**Both Callum and Veronica are from the states, though Veronica is originally from London. They moved back to London after he and Ria broke up, when they found out Veronica was pregnant. Or that's what we know so far anyway, there's much more being revealed soon. **_

_**Beth knew Veronica in London, before she ever met Callum. Veronica moved out around the same time as Ria, but Veronica and Beth kept in contact. Peter knows Callum through them, and met properly when they moved back to London. Thus the friendship.**_

_**If any of this doesn't make sense PLEASE say!**_

_**Are there any more questions about relationships between the characters just give me a shout okay?**_

_**And for those of you who are fans of Ria/Michel/hand-cuffs, I'm very sorry. This isn't a nice chapter, but it had to happen eventually. But atleast, it's all up (literally and figuratively hahaha) from here! **_

_**Thankyou to **__**alice and edward cullen**__**, you're reviews are motivating! Though I've told you that a hundred times eh? And to all others! Wonderful! Keep it up! **_

**Chapter 40**

It was inevitable really, the talk between Callum and myself. Although the family avoided Michel, Dani and myself for most of the day, we couldn't avoid each other forever. And the moment that Callum walked into the lounge-room at 6 o-clock that night and crooked a determined finger at me, I knew that any sort of avoidance technique we'd both been following since we'd broken up two years ago was over. I could see it in his eyes. The only time Callum ever got that look in his eyes, the look that hinted that he actually _did_ have a back-bone; it meant one of his famous "talks" was on its way over. And wasn't about to be distracted by things as trivial as the breakdown of a wedding. Even if it was a wedding between my sister and his best friend.

How stupid of me to think this could wait for a more appropriate time. Because really, we were all grown-ups. And this house was so obviously on breakdown point that even a child would be careful where they trod. How silly for me to think that Callum would notice this. Or care.

He just crooked his finger and waited.

I glanced at Michel, who looked relaxed and dreamily tired, sprawled across the lounge beside me. He gave me a woozy, weary smile and waved his hand at me.

"Go," he said, yawning loudly and closing his eyes. I flicked my gaze at Callum, who just stared back at me, waiting.

I glared at him.

"You want me to go," I repeated, looking back at Michel.

He nodded, his eyes still closed.

"Fine," I said huffily, feeling stupid that I was angry because he didn't appear the least bit jealous about me going off with my ex boyfriend _alone_. "I'll go. And I'll make sure I kiss him. And we'll get naked. And have sex. And then you'll regret it."

Michel just nodded, his face serene. "Go," he repeated again. "Knock yourself out."

I glared at him. "Fine." I stood up and stormed out of the room, pushing Callum aside when he didn't hurry out of my quick enough. "Where do you want to have this talk?" I demanded frostily.

He eyed me warily. "Mabye I don't anymore. Mabye I'll wait until you're in a…better mood."

I just looked at him. "_Callum_. Talk. You have a fuck load of explaining to do."

He looked sulky and crossed his arms. "Fine," he snapped at me. "We'll go upstairs to the guest room."

"Oh, you mean the room with a BED?" I raised my voice slightly for Michel's benefit. He didn't deign to reply.

I looked back at Callum, who looked almost amused.

"Shut-up." I glared. "Let's go."

XXXX

"Well?" I said a few minutes later, taking a seat on the floor of the guest room and watching as Callum arranged himself awkwardly on the bed opposite. "What is this talk about? Because if you're planning on explaining what you were going on about this morning, that would be nice too."

Callum sighed. "Let's not make this any harder than its going to be, Ria," he told me wearily, running a hand through his blonde hair.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming I'm not going to like it?"

"No."

"I'm going to be even angrier than finding out about you and Veronica?"

"Yes."

"Oh." I gulped. "Well…spill."

"I just want to say," Callum said, taking a deep breath, "that before we go on, I want to make it clear that you're the only woman I've ever loved and everything I did was just a huge mis-"

I held my hands up. "Woah. Stop. I didn't ask for excuses Callum, I just want the reason you feel the need to give them."

Callum closed his eyes. If I could have placed his expression, I would have named the twisting pain on his features as despair. But I didn't really care enough to try and understand what he was feeling. Callum was history. Veronica was history. Our relationship, and everything that went wrong in it, was definitely history.

I would _not_ care about what Callum was about to tell me.

It would _not_ change anything.

But of course, it did.

XXXX

Michel found me two hours later, still sitting in the same position on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest. My bum was cold; the dull chill from the floor-beds was slowly seeping down my arms and legs, making everything achy and uncomfortable. But still, I didn't move.

"Hey," Michel said quietly, approaching me softly, leaving the door open a small amount behind him, so some golden light from the hallway lamps seeped into the room. "Whats wrong? Callum came down hours ago."

I raised my eyes slowly and looked at Michel. I forced myself to shrug nonchalantly.

"I just…didn't feel like moving."

Michel frowned at me and crouched down, so his eyes were at my level, warm and grey and full of concern. "Ria, tell me." His hand reached out to brush my cheek gently, but I flinched away from it. I saw the look of hurt that flashed across his face and flinched again. I seemed to be getting very good at that, hurting people.

I stood up slowly, and Michel rose with me, silent. His face was closed over now, his eyes careful. He didn't know my mood, I realised, and it made him cautious. For some reason, that thought gave me strength.

I wasn't some weak sapling clinging to her boyfriend for support.

I was strong. I _could_ be strong.

I was certainly strong enough to face Bethany.

I was certainly strong enough to get through this, just like I'd gotten through everything else. Just like I had gotten through Marc's death. Through this entire week.

"My sisters such a bitch," I said, smiling up at Michel.

He blinked, unsure what to do with this. He bobbed his head once in agreement, and I laughed lightly and took his hand.

"Come on," I said, pressing everything I felt down, down, down. "Let's go to dinner."

XXXX

I am pretty sure I would have gotten through dinner without blowing up if Veronica _and_ Bethany hadn't been there. And it wasn't like I really wanted to go crazy. I didn't _want_ to turn into the spitting hellcat I'd recently noticed beginning to grow more pronounced in my personalty, a terrifying mirror of my sister.

But a girl can only take so much, and watching Veronica sitting there at the table beside Callum, with her hand pressed against her pregnant stomach, her eyes heavy lidded and looking straight at me, with my sister on her other side looking smug and horribly satisfied for a woman who'd just broken up her own wedding. Well, it all got a little too much.

"Bethany," I said sweetly, putting my fork down with a decisive clatter and ignoring the panicked expression on Callum's face when he saw my smile, "I think I sense a bit of a pattern going on here."

I was sitting across the table from her, Michel on one side, Anthony on the other. George sat by his brothers side, but he was determinedly chewing on his potato's. My parents sat at each end of the table, always the neutral parties. Like George, they kept eating. Everyone else had looked up and frozen in the middle of their meals.

"Ria…." Callum began pleadingly, and abruptly fell silent when Veronica turned her head slightly towards him. Michel and Anthony were both edging away from me slowly, as if afraid I was about to explode.

Bethany just met my eyes calmly and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she said, her tone of voice matching my own. "And what pattern would that be sweetheart?"

You had to hand it to the girl, I thought, she had a spine of steel.

But then again, tonight, so did I.

"It's just this pattern I've been noticing lately…with certain men." I smiled viciously. "_My_ men."

Her answering smile was just as malicious, but I caught the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. "Is this about Marc again darling? Because we've already discussed this. Grow up a little will you? I have."

I cocked my head to one side. "No…" I shook my head slowly. "It's not about _Marc_."

Anthony caught on quicker than all the rest. His shoulders slumped. "Oh Jesus," he muttered under his breath.

Bethany just looked at me. "Then who?" she asked nastily, "or have you been killing off some more ex-boyfriends I don't know about?" She looked at Michel. "I'd be sleeping with a gun under my pillow if I were you, _honey_."

It was a warning, I knew, to lay off. Whatever tangent I was leading to, Bethany wasn't happy. I swung my eyes pointly to Veronica. I wondered if _she_ knew.

"How does it feel Veronica?" I asked her, smiling.

She looked at me suspiciously, and her hands moved protectively over her pregnant stomach. "How does what feel?"

"Knowing that you're best friend fucked you're fiancée into submission and forced him to break up with me."

"What-"she began, her face going pale.

I stared at her, still not finished. "And then told him that if he didn't marry you, she'd tell _me_ what happened." Her eyes were wide, and swung from me, to Bethany, to Callum. "Tell me how _that_ feels, will you?"

Callum was ashen. My words had fallen into shocked silence, like heavy blows of a dull axe on wood. Splinters flew across the room, pierced everyone. My parents, their faces pale and tortured, rose from the table slowly and walked out of the room.

I watched them go, and then turned my eyes back to Bethany. "You're a vicious bitch Bethany. I hope you fucking rot in hell."

"Oh, _Jesus_," Anthony said again, his voice pained. His head sank down onto the table top. Michel was frozen, his eyes staring at me, a sick expression of disappointment and disbelief filling them.

George kept right on eating, but his hand clutched the fork so tightly they were white knuckled. Bethany was languid in her seat, determined as ever to brave out the storm, to soldier on through everything we threw her way.

Only Veronica moved, her head snapping between her lover and her friend, disenchantment creeping over her features like night does across the earth. Inevitable, I thought, watching her hands clenching her pregnant belly, thinking of little Susie's innocent pig-tails. Inevitable, but jesus christ, what had I just done to their children's future?

And a sick, sick feeling of despair climbed all over me and choked me down, made hot tears well in my eyes. God. What the fuck had I just done.

Ignoring them all, I stood up from the table quickly and almost ran out of the room. The painful silence in the kitchen chased me upstairs, into my cold, empty, child-hood bedroom. And when I through myself across the bed, feeling broken and cruel and ashamed for what my sister and I had brought on this family, on the friends that surrounded us, I found that deep in my heart, I was just as empty as my room.

And there was no-one here to tell me other-wise.

XXXX

"Sometimes, Ariana," Michel told me quietly, slipping into the bed beside me hours later. "There's more people to think about than yourself."

His voice was heavy and sad. I felt bile rise in my throat, felt tears again swarm across my eyes. I saw Veronica's pregnant belly in my mind, saw again Susie's golden curls.

"You think I don't know that Michel?" I whispered brokenly.

"I don't know," he replied in a whisper, and his words made me cold.

I forced myself to sit up, to swing my legs over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

I hunched my shoulders. "I think its' best I don't stay here tonight."

I made to rise, but his hand reached out and rested on my shoulder, drew me back down onto the bed. He leaned over me.

"Ria," he sighed, and his forehead rested against mine.

I reached up and tangled my fingers through his hair.

"I know there's more Michel," I said sadly. "I just wished I realised it before tonight."

He moved to the side and pulled me into his arms.

"Just go to sleep Ria," he said.

But I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.

Part of me couldn't help hoping that the sun would never the rise the next day, and I'd never have to face what happened that night.

XXXX


	41. Author Note

Thanks all for your reviews! If you asked a question in you're last review then I hope I answered it here…(And I'm answering questions from both fanfiction and fictionpress, to save time.

* * *

**Babyonyee**– thanks for you're review! Yes I know it's a little confusing, but it hasn't really had a chance to be explained yet. Trust me; it will be this next chapter. But yes, Callum was already sleeping with Veronica then, though this will also be more detailed. Remember, Veronica was already pregnant with Callum's kid when Beth slept with him. He's a bit of a slut isn't he? Haha I was actually shocked myself when this is the way the story worked out.

**Hiddengirl10**** – **haha I'm getting mixed reviews about Michel's reaction, which I guess is good. I don't think any of my characters should be universally loved, they all have their problems, and while I tend to agree with you about the situation, she DOES need to grow up a bit, especially when children's lives are concerned!

**Siberiaa**** – **Yesthat's true what you said about Ria not being in the wrong, but also, Michel as a character is extremely selfless. You'll notice he's usually supporting Ria, and very rarely does he actually talk up about his own problems. So I think that's its hard for him in a way when Ria and Beth are both so open about their bullshit and also that they constantly confront each other in a bid to get to the "truth". I think, in some ways, especially when there is children involved, "truth" might just have to pushed aside for a time, especially when everything's in the past. I guess that's where Michel's coming from. (And I know I sound like a retard, because I'm the writer so obviously I should know where my characters are coming from, but I'm actually finding this story easy to write because to me, it seems like each character has their own personality.) Michel had to confront Ria in the end, because really, she is being selfish. Not as bad as Beth though. And yeah, Veronica got what was coming to her haha.

(You're question about the parents is answered in the next answer)

**Darcyfan – **Hey you've been with me from the start haven't you? Except I can never reply to you're reviews because you never log in! Haha, so I'm replying now. I KNOW! I totally agree, I'm getting to the point in the story where I think they really do all need therapy. I had no idea how screwed up this family would end up, or I would have introduced the idea of therapy at the very start!

And in High School, well, you saw what happened at the kitchen table, her parents just upped and left. I have mentioned before, not sure what chapter though, that her father likes to pretend everything's wonderful, and only wants to see the good in people (which means he's obviously not seeing a whole lot of his children haha). And her mother is a bit oblivious. But yes, they do know that there's a lot of history between Ria and Beth, but I think they feel it's not their place to interfere. I tend to disagree though, I mean really, when you're children are young, the youngest 16, and their boyfriend dies, you don't step BACK. But they did. And that's how Beth and Ria have always had their lives, sorting it out themselves, with no parenst to guide either of them or smack them across the head.

* * *

WELL. I hope that miniature novel up there answered some questions. If you have any more, just ask, I love writing about my characters, as well as their lives, it helps me shape them a bit more if people pick up loose ends!

* * *

Also figured this was a good time to mention all my other reviewers (from both sites, again) and consider this a personal thanks for reviewing, a really appreciate it. and thankyou to my beta reader again for being excellent!

FANFICTION

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	42. The Whole Story

"Do you want to explain what happened last night

**Hey okay so I'v got some annoyed reviewers about the authors note. I AM sorry, I knew it was going to annoy some people, but I just really didn't want to put it in a chapter, it was such a long thankyou! But here's the next chapter I promised, just be patient! I promise I won't leave the story unfinished! **

**This is a LONG chapter, all based around the story of Callum, Veronica, Beth and Ria. Sorry if it bores you, but it had to be told. As always, let me know anything I missed etc. **

**Chapter 41**

"Do you want to explain what happened last night?" George asked me quietly, sitting down across the kitchen table from me and folding his arms. "Did you think we didn't have enough drama in this house?"

I sighed and stared down into my mug of steaming coffee. When I had woken this morning, Michel had still been beside me, his arms wrapped around my waist. He'd left soon enough though, once he'd realised I was awake. "We'll talk later," he had told me, rummaging through his suitcase and pulling out a beach towel. "I'm going for a swim."

Only Anthony had greeted me like it were any other morning. Had even made me coffee. Mum, dad, Bethany and Peter were all missing in action, and their non-appearance spoke louder than words. The moment George had stepped into the kitchen though, Anthony had cleared right out.

Traitor.

I sighed again. "I just…lost control, okay?"

Georges pale blue eyes narrowed. "I think you need to stop doing that."

I glared at him. "Then tell Beth to stop fucking my boyfriends."

"_Ex_-boyfriends."

My anger flared, full and bright. "They were my boyfriends at the time. And Veronica might be fucking miss-mother now, but Callum fucked her when he was still dating me. And she got pregnant. What am I supposed to say to that?" I stood up, pushing the chair back from the table. "Oh Boo-hoo bitch, _why don't you wear a fucking condom next time you go at it with my boyfriend?_"

George just looked at me. "Sit down for god-sake. I'm trying to have a goddamn adult conversation with you. Will you stop being so bloody dramatic?"

"Then stop judging me all the time!" I snarled.

"I will when you stop being as selfish as you're sister," George snapped coldly.

I sat.

George sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Will you please just tell me what happened?" he asked finally, his voice soft and careful.

I stared at him, at his pale, delicate features, the neat blonde hair and calm expression. George had always been the practical one in the family. The cool head in any fight. The one pulling it all apart, and then piecing it all back together with endless patience. Because of that, we all tended to listen to him. But right now, I wanted Anthony. I _needed_ Anthony. Someone unquestionably understanding.

I was _so_ not in the mood to have my own selfishness shoved in my face. Still, I hardly had any choice. Not if I wanted to move forward. Not if I wanted to leave London behind peacefully. Otherwise I'd be back here in 5 years, hacking out the same arguments with my sister, spewing over a 7 year old Susie and a past that hovered a little too close for comfort.

Did I really want that? To leave a sad, bitter woman and return the same way?

No, I decided, not really.

Which meant I had to talk to George.

"Fine," I sighed finally. "How much do you already know?"

His eyebrow rose. "As much as you let out last night. That you're sister "fucked" Callum into submission, forced him to break up with you, and pressured him to marry Veronica. Who, by the way," he added dryly, "has locked Callum out of the house and won't let him near Susie."

I winced. Not that I felt any sympathy for Callum since really, if he'd just keep his dick to himself none of this would have happened, but I did feel sorry for Susie. I even felt sorry for Veronica.

"I'll talk to her," I sighed. "None of this was her fault."

George looked at me sceptically. "That's a new attitude," he observed cautiously. "When did this change of heart occur?"

I put my elbows on the desk and rested my head in my hand. "Sine I found out that Veronica was just a drunken one-night-stand and it was Beth who he was fucking on his office desk for almost 5 months straight."

George blinked, and his face grew pale. "How did that happen?" His voice was low and shocked. "I never even knew they _knew_ each other."

I sighed. "Neither did I. Which is the exact thing she blackmailed him with when it came to marrying Veronica."

George sat back in his chair and swallowed. "Dear God. I can almost understand you're outburst last night now."

I didn't miss the 'almost.'

"But…_why_?"

I shrugged and took a sip of coffee, not caring when the hot liquid scalded my tongue. "I have no idea. I'd say it's because of Marc….but who knows? It could be anything. It could be just because she felt like it."

"Is she really that callous?"

I just stared at him. His voice was sad. His tone answered his own question.

"So what happened with Veronica then?"

"Callum and I had a massive fight one night. He told me I was working too much, that I wasn't putting enough effort into the relationship. I basically told him to go fuck himself. We ended up angry enough to call a break, and he got a motel that night. Veronica was just some British girl he met by accident in the hotel bar, got completely smashed with, and slept with. They both too drunk to use a condom."

"That where Susie comes from?" George demanded incredulously. "A drunken one-night stand?"

I nodded.

"And they never met again?"

I took another swallow of coffee. "This is where it starts to get murky," I said quietly. "Callum came home the next morning and I apologised and asked if we could try again." I wrinkled my nose, imagining what had been going through Callum's head when I said that. "We got back together, both of us thinking that night was in the past. But apparently Veronica _did_ feel different about that night. She didn't realise Callum had a girlfriend, and by co-incidence, her best friend at the time was Bethany."

George raised his eyebrows. "Small world."

"That's what I said. And what Callum said to. But Veronica had a perfectly legitimate reason for being at that motel; her uncle owned it. It _was _just co-incidence how Beth got involved."

"And what? I'm guessing Veronica, broken-hearted he never called, confided to Beth all about it."

"Right."

"But how did Beth realise it was Callum? _You're_ Callum?"

I sighed and looked away. "Because apparently, Veronica and Callum had taken pictures that night." I winced when I said this. So did George.

"Stupid of him," he muttered. "So Beth recognised Callum how?"

"She met him once when her and mum visited."

"And then what?"

"According to Callum," I said, making an effort to keep my voice neutral. "When Beth moved to the states for 6 months, she got in contact with Callum through his office, asked to meet up to discuss 'family matters', and he, thinking I had something to do with it, agreed."

George smiled tightly. "It just gets better and better doesn't it? Didn't she ever think you'd get suspicious while she was living there?"

I laughed humourlessly. "I tried my every best to ignore her existence. I was so caught up in work I didn't even notice Callum changing. And its always amazed me how my sister mind works. She hardly leaves any trail unless she wants to."

"And then what after she contacted him?"

"Then, Beth met him at a bar, confronted him with the pictures, got him blind drunk, and slept with him."

George frowned. "This coming from Callum?"

I nodded. "He says he doesn't even remember that night. But he _does_ remember waking up with Beth the next morning in a hotel room."

George blanched. "And it just kept going from there?"

I tried to shrug nonchalantly. "For the first few months atleast. She just kept meeting with him, holding the pictures over his head, and fucking him once she got him drunk." I frowned. "He was always pathetic when it came to confrontations, but even for him, these months were moronic."

George sighed and ran his hands through his hair. All around us, the house was eerily quiet. Only the distance sound of splashing broke our tiny blanket of silence. Finally, he spoke.

"And how does Veronica come back into all this? Wasn't she in the states as well?"

I shook my head. "Callum said she had only been there to visit for a few weeks, and after confiding to Beth, she moved back to London."

"Convenient for Bethany."

"And then, when Veronica rang her near the end of her term and announced she was pregnant and she needed help because her parents had thrown her out of home and she'd run out of rent money, everything just clicked into place. Bethany must have decided it was much better revenge to get Callum to marry someone else other than me than continue to meet him in secret, so…"

"…she brought out the photo's," said George, looking sick.

"Right. According to Callum, she dropped the bomb over lunch, said if he didn't 'take care' of her friend she'd make sure I got copies of Veronica's photos, told me about him and her, and made sure that if ever he wanted to see his child, she'd make sure he couldn't."

"So he broke up with you."

"He broke up with me," I agreed, my voice sad. "He broke up with me because it was the right thing to do, and Veronica needed him. And he knew I'd never stand for cheating. One night with Veronica? Mabye. But 5 months with Bethany? Not a chance. I was already lost."

George looked pale and shaken. There was a depth of understanding in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Just like that, I knew I was forgiven. Could anyone really blame me for snapping after hearing something like that?

"And then what?" he asked finally, looked almost frightened to hear the answer.

"And then nothing." I shrugged. "Callum broke up with me, I assumed it was all Veronica's fault, he went to London to get to know his future wife and help her out financially. Beth went home, met Peter, got engaged and fell in love. I moved on, found Michel. When I came here Beth and Veronica both let me believe it had been Veronica Callum had been with for 9 months. Beth because I suppose she didn't want the whole story to come out on the eve of her wedding, and Veronica because she was threatened by me. I was the love of his life, and she was just the other woman."

"With the baby."

"With the baby," I agreed. "The only reason he was even there."

"Well," George let out a long breath of air. "That explains almost everything."

"It does," I agreed. "And it also explains why Callum wanted to talk to me when we first met up. I guess he didn't realise what Beth and Veronica were telling me. For once in his life, he wanted to come clean."

George grimaced. "I can almost feel sorry for Callum after all that."

I drank the rest of my coffee. "Me too. No-one can withstand my sister for long."

"Except you."

I raised an eyebrow and laughed dryly. "Hardly. We're all still dancing to her tune."

"I'm pretty certain that the break-up of her marriage wasn't on the agenda," George reminded me gently.

I shook my head and sighed. "That particular victory doesn't me proud," I admitted. "I never wanted them to break up. But he had to hear it. He has to know what he's getting himself into."

"Don't we all," George agreed. He looked at me, hesitated.

"What?"

"I think…" he paused. "I know this is probably a bad time, but I think you should talk to Veronica."

"It's not my place to explain," I said.

"I know. But it would probably help if she knew that you and Callum were over. It will ease her peace of mind atleast, knowing you're not about to snap you're fingers and have Callum come running back to you. This is a woman with a 2 years old and another babe on the way, I think she deserves that atleast. Especially after hearing the whole story."

"Do you think she knows the whole story?" I asked George.

"That depends," George said, "on whether or not Callum has grown a backbone in the last two years."

I laughed, but again, there was hardly any amusement in it. "I hope he has," I said. "For her sake at least."


	43. The Fixing

The house was small and neat, with a creamy picket fence and a carefully mowed yard

**I am very sorry, really, about how long its been. But i'm in my final year at school, and doing some hectic subjects which seem to require essay after essay about every 4 days, so I've just been finding it a bit hard to fit in the next chapter. However, because some people have asked very nicely, I'll upload the next one right now. It may not be as long as you'll like, but its all I can manage for now. I'm very very sorry. I promise you the story WILL get finished, and it IS almost finished. But yes, Just having a little trouble finding time. And Darcyfan, thanks for you're review you're interest is very flattering! And where did you get the idea you may not be my favorite? I like both criticisms and compliments, and you've given both! Plus, you're review was excellent in attempting to tie up some loose ends. And to answer some peoples questions, no this story will very likely not be returning to the States. And I will try to rebuild my interest in Saving the Spring.**

**So thank you all for you're patience, I know some will be disappointed with this chapter, but I try to deal with a more mature Ria and Veronica here. **

**Anyway, you know the deal, critics and fans welcome, please review! **

The house was small and neat, with a creamy picket fence and a carefully mowed yard. A splattering of children's toys lay abandoned on the grass beside a small, shallow swimming pool that was over-flowing with water. As I made my way up towards the blue door I felt horribly out of place. This was domesticity at its finest, after-all. The golden image of family-hood. The gleaming advertisement of married bliss. Something that I, along with many other inner-city New Yorkers, where not particularly knowledgeable about.

Or it would have been bliss, I thought, if a pile of blankets and dewy pillows hadn't made it so blatantly obvious that someone had spent a long, lonely night on the doorstep.

And I was guessing that someone was Callum.

I raised my hand and before I could think myself out of my sudden sprout of maturity and leap over the picket fence and bound off down the road, I forced myself to knock.

"God_damit_ Callum!" came an instant, high-pitched shout, which made me wince. "I told you to get the goddamn hell out of here!"

I swallowed, but stood my ground.

A moment later, a very pissed of Veronica opened the door.

"What the fu-" She broke off. Her eyes focused on me and then widened in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?" She snarled, recovering quickly and clenching the front door tighter, like she was readying to slam it on my face.

I blew out a breath of air. "I just want to talk," I said gently, glancing from her white-knuckled fingers to her and back again. "If you don't mind." I was doing my best to be polite. This morning, when I had let George prep talk me into it, it had seemed so easy. '_Just go calm and easy_,' he'd cautioned me. '_No sudden moves. No loud voice. Just slow…easy…you _just_ want to talk…"_

Staring at Veronica's peroxide blonde hair and oh-so-obviously-fake tan though, it was more than a little difficult. Didn't Callum have better taste then this? I wondered, not for the first time. Was he so drunk on love he was blind? Or had he felt in the mood for some sort of human Barbie-doll?

Then I imagined George frowning at me disapprovingly and I banished the thoughts.

Who cared what she looked like? She was Susie's mother and engaged to a man who'd two-timed us both. Wasn't he really the common enemy here? Him and my sister, anyway.

Apparently, Veronica didn't see it that way.

"I _do_ mind," she snapped, her fingers tightening on the door. "I mind a hell of a fucking lot, now get the hell off my doorstep. I don't want to see you're face or the face of that bitch you call a sister ever again." She made to close the door, but I moved forward fast, pressing my hand against it and forcing it open again.

"Please," I said, staring into her eyes. "I really do want to talk. Just give me an hour."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

I sighed. "Because," I said, "believe it or not, but I really do want you and Callum to be together. I'm with Michel now remember? And you're not the only one here who got screwed over by Bethany. Mabye I can explain some things."

She snorted. "Like what? What the hell can you say that will make any of this any better?"

"Very little," I admitted. "But maybe I can explain her motivation, at least. You might be angrier at Callum now but believe me, he's just as much the victim in this as we are."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Please," I said, pleading now. "Just let me come in? Just give me an hour. Then I'll be out of your hair."

She sighed heavily, and some of the resolve faded from her face. She stepped aside and opened the door a little wider.

"Fine," she said coldly. "You have an hour."

I smiled at her gratefully; she returned it with a glare.

"This doesn't mean we're friends," she snapped as I walked in the door. It shut behind me with a small click. "I just want the goddamn truth. And you're the only one who's cruel enough to give it me."

I winced, but didn't try to contradict her.

"You're opinion might change after you hear everything," I said quietly.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "This isn't a competition between you and you're sister, Ariana," she said, leading me through the house and into a floral wall-papered lounge room. "This is about my child's future." Her eyes met mine. "And whether I feel like including her father in it."

XXX

And so I told her.

Everything.

Marc.

High school.

Callum.

Even the truth about Michel.

I told her all the petty competitions and useless hate that had gotten Beth and I into this mess in the firs place.

And when I was finished, she sat in silence for a long time.

"Well," she said finally. "I always knew he was a spineless moron." She sighed and looked away. Her fingers picked at the hem of her tight pink dress. "But I never quite realised how screwed up you're family was."

I smiled tightly. "Neither did I. Until this week."

The corners of her mouth twitched, and when her eyes met mine, they were dryly amused. "She never told me anything," she said. "Not once. She was always the best friend. Quiet, sweet, there for me no matter what." She sighed again. "I guess that's all she was doing this time too." Her mouth twisted. "In a sick way, she tried to do well by me."

I raised my eyebrows at her. "And look how it turned out," I pointed out.

Veronica frowned, and for once her solarium tanned face didn't annoy me. There was real intelligence in her eyes. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "Look how it all turned out." Her pale blue eyes lifted from the hem of her dress and looked around the small, cramped lounge-room, as if assessing it and its worth.

In the distance, I heard the delighted squeal of a toddler.

"You wouldn't take him back," she said finally, looking at me intently. "If he'd done the same to you, you wouldn't take him back."

"I'm not a very forgiving person," I admitted.

"No," she agreed.

"But the difference is," I added softly, "Is that I don't _want_ him back."

Her eyes shifted to mine, waiting.

"Michel's the only one for me." As I said it, the truth of those words hit me like a bucket of iced water.

"How can you?" she asked me. "How can you _not_ want him back?"

I saw the devastating love in her eyes, the way her hands clenched her stomach protectively.

"Because I'm not you," I told her simply.

"And you're not a forgiving person."

I smiled.

"Well," she said finally, her shoulders slumping, as if a great weight had been lifted off them. "It's lucky that I am."

_And you're a very stupid person_, I thought privately. But for once, I held back. If this was what she wanted, I wasn't about to stand in her way. I wouldn't have done it. There was nothing on this earth that could make me take Callum back. But then, she'd had it right. She was the forgiving person here. And for that, I had to admire her.

It took a lot of strength to forgive someone, and let them back into you're life, and run the risk of being hurt again.

_I_ wouldn't.

But I wasn't her.

XXXX

George was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in the house again.

He looked up at my entrance, his face expectant.

"Well?" he asked.

I took a seat opposite him. "It went as well as it could."

He smiled at me tiredly, and for the first time I noticed the strain in his eyes. "And?"

"And," I answered quietly, "she'll take him back."

His eyebrow rose. "Really?"

"Really," I confirmed. "She forgave him."

He looked at me, long and hard. "Quite a girl," he said finally, his voice soft but steely.

I smiled at him tightly. "Under the solarium tan and peroxide?" I said, finding it impossible to resist the barbed remark. "Yes, she is."

"I would almost say Callum's a lucky man."

I looked at him, frowning. Then sighed. "Yes," I said finally. "I guess he is. They'll have their problems no doubt. But because of her…she's a lot stronger than she lets on."

"Of course she is," George smiled at me. "She survived you and Beth didn't she?"

XXXX


	44. The Hunt

The next morning when I woke, Michel was gone

**Hello all**

**Gosh you must hate me now**

**But I am very very very very sorry**

**REALLY**

**Ive been so busy with school work and I've just taken up a second job so yeah. Not so much time left. Also, got a week until my yearlies soooo I really shouldn't be doing this anyway. But I'm avoiding work, and this is the best way to do it**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 43**

The next morning when I woke, Michel was gone. I was hardly surprised. Last night, he'd come to bed late, and his silence felt heavy against my skin. He'd held my close, but the tightness of his arms felt desperate, as if I were slipping away and he was trying to hold on. Except it wasn't me slipping away, it was just everything Michel felt for me.

Still, I tried to take some comfort in the fact that he didn't _want_ me to go. Small comforts were the basis of life, I thought. As long as Michel didn't want me gone, there was time left to re-make everything.

This, I told myself again and again.

Still, I missed him in the morning.

I rose and dressed quickly, hating the silence of the house below me. It was the same silence as yesterday, a kind of waiting silence, the kind that hovered on a precipice. And we could all topple either side. As Gabriel had said often enough back home, every road we took led to hell anyway. A testament uncomfortably true of my own family. Never satisfied until we were about to self-destruct. Something that I hoped after this week, we'd all grow out of.

Hopefully.

It rained on the way over to Veronica's. However cliché it was, the situation called for it. For some reason, I liked the feel of the cold, sharp water sliding down my back, across my face, soaking my clothes and my hair and seeping into my skin. It felt like it was washing away everything that had happened. Like somehow I was repenting for the last week. For the first time in a long time, I felt clean.

And I kept remembering yesterday, and the sadness in her eyes when she told me she'd forgive him. As if she was disappointed in herself. I had been disappointed in her too, atleast until I'd talked to George about it all, and I'd realised that forgiveness was just another strength. Perhaps the strongest one of all, because it meant we spent our lives vulnerable.

When had Beth or myself ever allowed ourselves to be vulnerable?

When I knocked on her door this time, there was no screaming refusal. She opened the door calmly, and if she was surprised at my presence on her doorstep, she gave no sign of it. Wordlessly, she held the door wider, and I stepped over the threshold with a grateful smile.

Her lips twitched in response.

"Callum's home," she said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "What, now? Or for good?"

She smiled. "Now, and for good." Her voice was gentle. All the angry bitterness from yesterday had seeped away. I wondered if she'd had a walk in the rain as well. Metaphorically, anyway.

Then her eyes narrowed, and her gaze swept me from head to toe. "What did you?" she demanded, "jump in the sea? You're making my carpet wet."

I glanced down guiltily. "Sorry. I felt like walking."

Her eyes flickered to the window, and a small, amused smile crept across her face. "Yes. There is something to be said for torrential downpours," she murmured. Then she shook her head. "Come on, I'll fill you a bath, you can wear something of mine for now."

Once, I thought, as I followed her up the stairs, I would have blanched at the prospect.

But the rain had changed me. As well as my new cleanliness, I suddenly felt _understanding_.

It had just taken a particularly long walk in some particularly horrible shoes for me to reach this point. And now I had, veronica's clothes didn't seem like such a bad thing. So she was married to my ex. So what?

And, smiling and feeling particularly proud of myself and my new perspective, I accepted the bundle of clothes she offered me and prepared to immerse myself in warm water and frothy bubbles.

And she, looking clucky and gentle and understanding, smiled right back.

XXXX

"Where did you go?" Anthony demanded the moment I stepped inside the kitchen. He looked annoyed. George, sitting next to his brother, rolled his eyes.

"I went to see Veronica," I answered, wondering why he was so annoyed at me.

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

George grinned at me. "Again?" He asked, "What did she say?"

"She gave me a bath and some dry clothes," I answered, ignoring Anthony.

"_Again_?" Anthony demanded, "What do you mean _again_? When did you see her the first time?"

"Yesterday."

"And you're still alive?" His eyes were incredulous.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm still alive. She gave me clothes, see?" I fingered the silky pink shirt she had lent me. To felt nice against my skin. Maybe something could be said for silk afterall.

Anthony glared at the shirt. "Did you steal them off her dead body?"

George snorted with laughter and stood up from the table. He made his way over to the kettle and poured me a coffee.

"Ignore my brother," George said, handing me the cup which I took gratefully. "He's just annoyed because your mother made him put out the washing this morning when she couldn't find you."

I grinned. "Really?"

"Since when are you and Veronica on talking terms?" Anthony challenged, ignoring us both. "Last I heard, she was two-timing-whore and you were bitch-from-hell."

"That," I said primly, refusing to get riled up by my cousin, "was the other night. This is today."

Anthony stared at me. "Honey, you pretty much destroyed her future. That's not one of those 'that was then this is now' things."

"_Anthony_," George hissed.

"I thought you were on my side?" I asked Anthony, suddenly annoyed. "And now I'm the bitch from hell?"

"_Ria_."

We both ignored George.

Anthony just smiled sweetly at me. "That doesn't change the facts sweetheart."

I gasped, "_you_-" I was about to say something very nasty, but George cut my off quickly.

"Ria, shut your mouth. Anthony, stop being a spoilt brat." He glared at the both of us. "I don't care if you had to put out the washing this morning Anthony, give the girl a break."

Anthony looked sulkily. "But she woke my up at 8 o'clock George," he whined, and I suddenly felt sorry for him. "_8 O'clock_."

George rolled his eyes. "Oh for fucks sake, go back to bed now if it's _that_ hard for you to stay awake for 12 hours straight. God knows this entire household needs more fucking sleep." And he stormed out of the kitchen.

Anthony suddenly looked sheepish.

"Sorry," he offered meekly, like a peace treaty. "I'm just feeling a little snappish right now."

I raised my eyebrows sceptically. "Really? Just a little?"

He smiled agreeably and patted the seat beside him. "Look on the bright side," he told me cheerfully, "Atleast now with George gone, you can tell me the whole story. And I mean the _whole_ story. No juicy details left out please."

His eyes glimmered wickedly. And just with that one look, I knew everything was going to be alright.

I sat down, and for the second time in two days, I forced myself to tell it all.

XXXX

"_Wow_," Anthony mouthed soundlessly when it was over. "_Wow_."

"I know," I said, forcibly cheerful, "very twisted isn't it?"

Somehow, talking about everything that had happened made it all a bit less dreary. It was hard to take anything to seriously when it was Anthony sitting beside you. Like a helium balloon, your spirits were guaranteed to float upwards.

"Twisted?" Anthony asked incredulously. "_Twisted_? Honey, that is so beyond twisted it is not even funny."

"I didn't think it was."

He shot me a sharp look. Then leaned forward and smiled at me slowly. I leaned back a little. It was far too much a predator's smile. Far too gleefully malicious.

"I have once piece of advise for you sweetheart," he said joyfully, his eyes shining like Christmas had come early.

"Whats that?" I asked warily.

"Go fuck that young boys brains out," he said, still smiling warmly. "You think your stories twisted? The poor man must be inside out with lust." His eyes, incredibly, were sympathetic.

I stared at him in shock. "That's it? That's your advise?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I tell you that whole story, and the only conclusion you can come to is that _I should have sex with Michel?_"

Anthony only smiled. "You may as well enjoy the good things while you have them," he said. "And trust me honey, if that man has stuck with you this far, he's not going anywhere."

"You're forgetting that I haven't actually spoken to him since…that night."

"But he still holds you in your sleep? Desperately? Like he's never going to let go?" Anthony chuckled, and I had a feeling that what he was really thinking went more along the lines of 'that stupid little girl.' "That's not exactly the behaviour of a runner." His eyes were serious suddenly. "That boy wants you, my darling. In more ways then one. And if you're serious about him, and if he's something that you want to salvage from all this mess," he gestured around the house, "then you have to act fast, or you might lose him after all."

Anthony got up from the table, came around to me, and planted a kiss on the top of my head. "Go get 'em tiger." He grinned. "Make your favourite cousin proud."

XXXX

That afternoon, I set out to do just that.

Of course, now that I was determined to make Anthony proud, Michel was nowhere to be found.

I checked the pools first. Our one and the public one I'd found him at when I'd lost him the first time.

I even checked our cubicle, smiling all the while at the fond memories it evoked.

But he was nowhere.

_Nowhere_.

Dripping wet and angry I stormed back into the kitchen, making both Anthony and George, who had both returned to their usual spots and were fighting over the newspaper, jump.

"Where the _hell_ is he?" I demanded, storming over to the kettle and flipping it on angrily. I turned around and leaned against the counter, folding my arms grumpily. "Doesn't he freaking _want_ sex now? Is that it? He's running away from me now?"

Anthony snorted into his mug of coffee. George hid a smile with his hand.

"_Ria_," My mother appeared in the doorway suddenly, and her eyes were wide with horror. "_You're dripping all over the tiles_!"

I glanced down at my clothes. They were wet and clingy, but thanks to the dark pink tone of Veronica's silk, not see through. They were, however, dripping.

"Well," I snapped sulkily, turning around to pour some coffee powder and hot water in my mug, "it's raining outside." Ignoring Anthony's sloppily hid laugh, I stirred the coffee vigorously and took a sip, determined to ignore my suddenly burning tongue.

"You know those things? They have that stem, and a flower-like formation on the top? I think they're called umbrellas?" Mum reminded me mildly. Even George smirked.

Anthony grinned, his dark eyes mischievous. "Go easy on the girl aunty; she's a bit sexually frustrated."

I scowled at Anthony as mum gasped loudly.

I looked over, expecting a look of horror on her face, but instead, she looked delighted. "Well, _finally_," she exclaimed happily, clapping her hands together. "You two have waited long enough! Even I wasn't that celibate!"

George and I both winced at the image that suddenly rose in our heads. Anthony doubled over with laughter.

"No, really darling. Honestly, it about time. I was wondering if there was something wrong with the bed …" Mum continued, her face deadly serious, though her eyes sparkled with humour. "Or maybe, you know, there was something wrong with _Michel_…"

Anthony howled, part in laughter, part in pain. "Oh god…" he moaned through gasps of air, clutching his stomach, "you're killing me…"

And just at that very moment, Michel appeared in the doorway, his brows lowered in confusion.

"Whats going on in here?" he demanded, looking at Anthony with mild concern. "It sounds like someone's dying."

At that point, even George lost his well practiced control and joined Anthony in his wild laughter.

I glared at the both of them. "You two are going to make someone very unhappy one day," I told them frostily. I narrowed my eyes at Anthony, "especially you."

And then, ignoring my mother, who was chuckling with her nephews, and ignoring my cousins, who I was seriously considering pushing off the planet, I took Michel's hand and led him away from the kitchen.

XXXX


	45. The Web

**Hey all**

**Heaps sorry, so much, how long this has taken**

**Even now, not sure if it will satisfy you**

**It feels a bit mushy to me**

**And because I've been so long away from the story, I hope it fits in okay**

**As always, im after criticism as well!**

**Hope you enjoy, more will be coming soon, now I'm past the hardest part**

**Kisses**

**Ness**

Chapter 44

"So," said Michel, sitting on the bed we had shared over the past week or so. "Want to explain to me what that was all about?"

I hung back a little, suddenly nervous. What if he said no? What if Anthony and I had been wrong this whole time? What if, after laying my heart out like I had intended to do, he just turned away? What if -

I caught myself.

What if I never took this chance? Somewhere, in the future, Michel and I would both move on. Marry other people. Have other people's babies…could I really deal with that? What if-

I caught myself again. _Get a fucking grip Ria_, I told myself. This isn't a goddamn marriage proposal. Its just an invitation to let loose a little bit of the sexual tension that's been thrumming around this week. Nothing to get worked up over. Certainly nothing to plan a _marriage_ over. Though really, I was kind of okay with that.

But for now. Just stick with a date, I told myself. And maybe a little of sex.

I shook my head, and shifted my feet. "Not really," I answered him, and he looked a little amused.

"Okay," he said. His voice sounded easy and light. He patted the bed beside him. "Come and sit here."

I stared at him.

"Please," he added quickly. "Please come and sit here. Next to me."

On a bed? Was he insane? How much control did he think I had?

Then again, I reminded myself, it wasn't like he knew what was going through my mind. Or I hoped not anyway. That would be so embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as what had happened downstairs. Then I thought of what Anthony had said, right before I'd traipsed off to find my true love. Go get 'em tiger. I shook my head at myself. Yeah, I'd sure ripped in to Michel. Never let a man say no, that was me.

This was ridiculous. I looked at Michel, sitting there, his hand on the place where he wanted me to sit, looking a little concerned. This was the worst possible time I could ever choose to have a shy-attack. Be a tiger, I told myself. Forget about looking stupid. Be a goddamn tiger until that man begs for mercy.

I walked over to the bed and sat down next to him.

Michel turned a little so he could face me. He looked serious all of a sudden.

"Ria, I've been thinking…" he began, and mentally, I winced.

"Michel-"

"No," he said, and held up his hand. "Let me say this."

I stayed silent, praying with all my might that god pay attention to me now, if never again, and not let Michel be breaking up with me, of all times, right now.

"I've thinking a lot," he continued, still looking terribly serious, "about us. And about this…situation."

I sighed. "The pretend-date thing?"

He stared at me, shocked, and then shook his head. "No," he said slowly, as if he was just remembering something important. "The family…situation. And us being here, caught in the middle of it." But his eyes looked a little less focused now, and I saw his hand clench a little where it rested in his lap.

"Oh," I said, trying not to be confused. Or hopeful. But hey, atleast he wasn't breaking it off.

"And well, the last few nights." He swallowed. "They've been a little difficult for me, and I'm…sorry."

I stared at him. "What?"

He swallowed again. "I just thought I'd say that I'm sorry. I had no right to act like I did. I should have involved myself in you're family…it's just…" he broke off, looking uncomfortable.

"Why are you apologising?" I asked, still shell-shocked that this whole speech had turned out to be a wayward apology. And for what? For treating me like the bitch I was? Michel was so clueless sometimes.

"I'm apologising because," he told me, his voice quieter, "because I let how I felt about you interfere with the…situation, with your family. I should never have taken sides, it was wrong." He hung his head a little. "I'm sorry."

But I hardly heard him. I was in a daze. _I let how I felt about you…_what did he mean by that? How did he feel? _How_?

"Michel," I said finally, turning to look at him and holding his gaze. "I was a bitch," I said simply. "I expect to be treated like a bitch." I smiled. "Which is exactly what you did."

Michel winced.

"That not a bad thing though," I added quickly. "And there's no reason for you to apologise. Because…" I took a deep breath. "Because of how I feel about you."

Michel frowned at me. "Ria. Just because…we…feel a certain way, doesn't give me the right to judge you."

"Of course it does, are you kidding? You had every right to be angry at me. I almost ruined Susie's future."

"You didn't-

"Yes, I did." I smiled at him, and Michel sighed.

"This wasn't the reason I wanted to talk to you," he said.

I blinked. "Oh," I said again, feeling dumb.

"What I wanted to say, before this came up, was that I don't care."

About what? "Michel?"

"I don't care what happens to your family Ria." He paused and frowned. "That came out wrong. What I meant was, obviously I care if they…_die_ or something. Or get sick. But I don't care about the past. Or about Marc. Or Callum even. I don't care what happened with you and Bethany, or with Callum and Bethany." He held my gaze, stormy grey on blue. "The only thing I should care about, the only thing I _do_ care about," he paused and smiled at me gently, "is you. Just. You."

I felt the breath leave my body, felt it replaced by a strange, dizzying joy. I smiled at him slowly, and his own smile widened, melted his cool eyes, warmed his whole face. Gently, he reached out his hand and ran it along the side of my face. His touch warmed my skin, left a trail of heat behind, and my stomach twisted in pleasure, almost pain.

"Do you remember," he asked me quietly, after we had sat in silence for minutes, watching one another, "when I told you that I didn't want to have you when Marc was still hanging over you're head?"

I nodded slowly. I remembered vividly. I remembered that entire day vividly, but especially that scene at the pool. I smiled.

"I think I was wrong to say that," he continued, his eyes moving away from my face, dropping momentarily to my lips before skidding away from me entirely. He dropped his hand from my cheek, and clenched both his hands in his lap. "It was wrong because that was like putting conditions on love." His voice was so quiet, so soft, a tendril of a whisper that hardly disturbed the silence. "That I only wanted you if you were free of burdens," he shook his head gently. "Marc was such a big part of you, of everything, and I only wanted you when you were rid of it." He looked up at me again, quickly. "Like I only wanted you if you were clean and nice and neat, like I thought you were before. I wasn't ready to deal with everything that happened. I just wanted you back."

I stared at him, feeling sick, wondering what was coming next. It had never occurred to me, that this was the reason Michel might have turned away. I had thought he meant that letting me deal with what happened with Marc was for my own good. I hadn't thought it was because he might not have wanted _me_.

"I didn't realise all this at the time," he was saying. "It was only the last few nights, when I had time to think, that I realised what I was doing. That I was, like I said, putting conditions on my," he hesitated, looking at me uncertainly, "…my love. And I realised that that wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want you clean and neat and tidy, you were never like that. That was just what I used to think. Now…" he broke off, swallowed, and continued. "I want you, _everything_ about you, without you ever changing anything. I want Marc, and Callum, and Bethany, and everything they gave you because you survived them. I want everything you ever felt, whether it was selfish, or kind, or terribly, horribly brave. I want your jealousy of Susie, and of Veronica. I want your embarrassment when Anthony teases you, and your uncertainty when you don't know what _I _want." He smiled then, softly, wonderfully, sadly. "As if I could ever want anything you couldn't give." And then he turned to me, reaching his hand towards me again, and traced where he had moved his fingers before. "I want you Ria," he said simply.

And for the first time, with no doubts or uncertainties or sadness, I believed him completely.

Because finally, finally, it all made perfect sense.

I leant in to him, and he opened his arms instantly, pulling my closer, pressing my forehead unde his chin, tightening his arms around me until it was difficult to breathe.

"I want you to," I said finally. And then, "I love you."

I felt his lips in my hair, moving as he mouthed the words I had spoken. I felt his kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my neck, my collarbone, his hands moving, moving to wrap themselves around my waist, the small of back, tracing my belly button through my shirt, then holding me tight as he lifted me onto his lap and took my face between his hands, and pressed the softest kiss I had ever felt onto my lips.

"Does this mean," I said softly, my lips moving against his as I spoke, as I revelled in the feel of his arms around me, holding me tight, "that we don't have to wait any longer?"

I felt him smile, and his hands pressed me closer, as close as they could, and then released me.

"No," he said, moving back, a smile still on his mouth.

"No?"

His hand reached up, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face. "We're going to do this properly Ria, this time." he smiled at my disappointed expression. "No more pretending," he told me, his eyes twinkling. "I'm going to take you out on a real, live date."

Happiness swept trough me, leaving me breathless. I hugged him close.

"And then?" I asked him, crossing my fingers.

"And then," he answered me, holding me tightly and setting my upright. He stood up as well, and leant over me, running a finger from my forehead down my nose, and flicking the end. His eyes were warm and smiling as he stared down at me, his face more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. "And then," he repeated, "we'll have to wait and see."

XXXX

The date was perfect, and everything else that came after, that was perfect to.

It started off soft, gentle nudges throughout the evening, a chaste kiss on the side-walk, and quick embrace in the back of the cab. We were dizzy with love and wine and candle-light, caught up in a web of our own making that neither of us were willing to break free of. His hands, when they held me, were gentle, as if I were the most delicate creature he had ever held, and the most precious. I was dazzled by his smiles, by his kisses, by the stormy warmth of his gaze, filled with promises and acceptance, free of their wariness and caution.

I had never been happier in my life.

And then, when he took my hand and led me up the stairs to our room, not letting go even when he pulled me onto the bed, I thought I would explode from joy.

And he was so gentle, so soft. Careful even when I cried out for him, begged him to hurry. Even as he pulled my shirt away from my skin, drew my pants down over my knees and off me completely, he handled them as they could break and unravel any minute, and folded them neatly in the corner of the room. He drove me wild with wanting. And when he came back to bed, and laid out beside me still fully dressed, and drew his hand lightly across the curved of my breasts where they rose above the red lacy bra I wore, and I looked up to see his smile, dark and vicious and laughing all at once, I laughed and lost my patience and rolled over him until I straddled him, clad only in my underwear, and leant down to whisper in his ear that I loved him and needed him and forever, until the day I died, he would be the only one for me.

And it was that that broke him, his careful self control. He rose up from the bed and pulled me onto him, his hands no longer gentle, quivering with barely leashed desire. He moaned when I drew his shirt away from his skin, not bothering to take it off, just spread it open so I could lay myself across his chest and feel my skin against his. But it wasn't enough for him, and suddenly I was naked, my bra and panties gone, flung across the room somewhere. He shrugged out of his shirt and pulled off his jeans impatiently, and then crouched above me, his face wild and dark, his grey eyes stormy and wild, and I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I near cried for it.

And then, as he slowly, gently slid inside of me, I really did cry. Tears streamed down my face, and he brushed them away with his lips, murmuring to me all the while, words of love and lust and wonder and joy. He surged into me, his body gone feral with need, but his hands where they held my face were soft and light against my skin. I stared into his eyes as he moved within me, and they, too, were light. like the lightest part of a night sky, just before dawn, when the stars themselves seem woven into the sea, and the glow of the sun infuses everything from within.

And then, as we slowly quietened, he drew me close, and held me tight. And still the magic of the night didn't break, our web stayed as strong as ever. A shining, golden thing that pressed tightly against us, fused within us. And I thought that if I could live the rest of my life like this, in his arms while he slept, trusting and protective, I could never, would never, ever be unhappy.

XXXX


	46. The ReEngagement

**Hello all**

**I know, be shocked, one day after another – not even any months between!**

**Truth is, I start my final exams EVER in a week and a bit, and I'm desperate to get out of study. The Mabo Decision isn't the most fascinating thing I've ever learned about. **

**So here it is. If you're disappointed by lack of chaos, really sorry. But it was always going to wrap up! **

**(Not that this is the end. Maybe 2 more chapters to go actually.)**

**Love **

**Ness**

Chapter 44

When I came down the stairs the next morning, reality still hadn't hit me. I was in a daze, my head in the clouds, a smile on my face that I didn't think much could remove. Even when I walked into the kitchen and saw Bethany and Anthony sitting at the breakfast table, and my mother at the counter, pouring coffee. She turned at my entrance, said good morning, took one look at Bethany, and poured a fourth mug of coffee.

"Whats wrong with you?" My sister demanded, the first words she'd spoken to me since that night at the dining room table. "Are you on acid?"

I just smiled at her serenely, and then smiled wider at Anthony.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Where's the lucky man?"

I forced myself not to think of Michel, upstairs in our warm bed, exhausted from our midnight romp and sleeping with a smile on his face. I took a sip of the coffee my mother put in front of me. "Up stairs," I answered Anthony, "in bed."

He grinned. "Good night?"

I sighed, still ignoring Bethany, and curved my hands around my mug. "It was a _great_ night," I said, just as George entered the kitchen, looking bleary eyed and yawning. He sat down beside me and smiled at me tiredly.

"Oh," he said, muffling another yawn. "Do tell."

I smiled happily, and my mother put a fifth mug of coffee infront of George. "He took me on a date."

Anthony looked mildly disappointed. "Is that it?"

I shot him a condescending glance. "Do I seem like the kind of girl that would have sex on a first date?"

"Yes," Anthony said instantly, and I tried to feel offended. But my head was still full of bubbles and all I could do was grin happily at him.

"Well I'm not going to tell you any details then," I told him, sniffing. "It's private."

Anthony frowned at me. "That's not fair."

George looked at his brother. "Stop it," he said to him. "Find your own man."

Anthony rolled his eyes but didn't say anything else.

Bethany, who had silent through this, staring into her coffee, rose from the table. We all watched her, puzzled, as she gave our mother a kiss on the cheek and visibly braced herself before walking out the door. There was silence, and then we heard the front door slam.

We all swivelled to look at mother.

"No temper tantrums?" I asked, disbelieving. "No snide comments? No hate-filled glanced?" I glanced back the way my sister had left. "Whats wrong with me, she says? Whats wrong with _her_?"

My mother shot me a quelling look. "Be nice," she said, "she's a nervous wreck."

"Why?" George asked.

My mother sighed and brushed her hair out of her face. She was wearing a frumpy red dressing grown, and her face, clean of make-up, was tired and drawn. She looked more like a mother than she ever had, I thought. Torn up with caring for her daughters.

"Peter wanted to meet her for coffee." She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "Right about now."

"And say what?" I demanded.

But my mother just looked at me and shook her head. "Oh no," she told me firmly. "I'm not telling you anything." She shot a look at Anthony and George. "_Any_ of you," she added. "That girl needs some privacy. What her and Peter are talking about is none of our damn business." She pointed her finger at me. "Especially yours. You've interfered enough in their lives."

Anthony and George instantly jumped to my defence, but mother glared at them until they sat down again. "I'm not saying its for the wrong reasons," she said. "And I'm not taking sides. But I've had enough of this." Her eyes met mine. "Peter and Bethany started without you, sweetheart. They can start again without you, too."

"And besides," she smiled at me, her face softening. "I'm sure Michel was Peter's inspiration anyway. You've done you're good deed for the day."

And then she too, walked out of the kitchen.

"Well," I said finally, looking at my cousins. "Realities definitely restored."

Anthony whistled soundlessly. "Peter and Bethany," he murmured. "I never would have thought."

George bobbed his head soundlessly in agreement.

"Maybe he really loves her," said a voice from the kitchen door, and we all looked up to see Michel standing in there, dressed in a tank top and sweats, his hair ruffled.

He grimaced at our expressions, and walked over to sit in the chair on the other side of me. "I think that was the part where you were supposed to say 'isn't that romantic' and wish them the very best," he said, smiling.

Anthony shook his head. "With Bethany? It would be like wishing him to the grave early on." he sighed. "That poor, poor man."

George hit him over the back of the head. "Hey," he said, mimicking Michel, "maybe he really loves her."

Anthony scowled at him.

George rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it. You were never going to get Peter anyway."

I choked on my coffee. Michel patted my back sympathetically. "You wanted _Peter_?"

"Well," Anthony said, looking indignant. "Michel was happily taken."

Michel, to his credit, just grinned at my cousin.

I glared at Anthony. "You stay away from him," I warned him. "He's my sister's man."

Anthony looked hurt. "You're defending you're _sister_ over me? Have we all died and gone to hell?"

I just looked at him. "Stay away from him."

Anthony sniffed. "It was only a passing crush anyway."

"Well," I said, "make sure it stays that way."

Michels hand had moved from my book to my shoulder, and I leaned into his embrace, sighing happily when he wrapped his arms around me. Anthony looked at us in disgust.

"If you're not going to tell me all the gory details," He said, "can you atleast refrain from falling all over each other? Some people aren't getting any, you know."

George eyed his twin. "What's Derek then? Another passing fancy too?"

"Derek," Anthony said loftily and looking at me pointly, "is a _private_ matter."

"Oh come on," I said, still wrapped in Michels arms. "Give us all the juicy details."

Anthony looked at me, smirking. "Not on you're life, sweetheart. Or at least, not until you tell me what all that yelling was about last night."

I blushed. "Private," I muttered, and Michel's arms tightened. I felt his smile against the back of my hair.

"Well," said Anthony, looking smug, "so is Derek."

XXXX

Bethany returned 4 hours later, looking just the same as when she left. None of us said anything when she passed by the kitchen, oblivious to our stares.

"She looks fine to me," Anthony said finally, pushing his plate away from him and swallowing the last of his sandwich.

"She looked exactly the same," George protested mildly and Anthony shot him a look. "Didn't you notice the improvement this morning? Quiet as a mouse, not even glaring? And the first words she said to Ria in days weren't even insults!" he shook his head. "Trust me, she looks fine. In fact, she looks even better than fine. This is a definite improvement." Anthony brushed his hands of crumbs. "I like Peter."

"We know," Michel and I said together. But George was still frowning at his twin.

"How can you say this is an improvement? She looks like she's been whipped into submission."

"Then I applaud the man who whipped her," Anthony retorted, then winced when George glared at him. "Okay, fine. It's not the real Bethany. We all love the real Bethany. We all want the real Bethany back." he sounded like he was gritting his teeth as he said it. "Even though the real Bethany is a bitch from hell."

George nodded. "Thankyou."

Anthony just shrugged and muttered something under his breath that sounded like 'you moron.' George, if he heard, just smiled at him calmly.

And then suddenly my mother was there, looking brighter than we'd seen her in days, her hands twisting in excitement.

"Kids!" she said happily, coming into the kitchen and giving me a quick hug. "I have wonderful news!"

I knew what was coming next. My eyes met Anthony's across the table.

"Bethany and Peter are getting married!"

We all smiled and made appropriate celebratory noises, enough of them to satisfy my mother before she scurried back upstairs to her eldest daughter. Anthony grinned impishly across the table at me, and toasted me with his coffee mug.

"May the poor man rest in peace," he said, and we all laughed.

XXXX


	47. The End

By some twist of fate, I found Bethany alone in the garden later that evening

3 days later, by some twist of fate, I found Bethany alone in the garden. She still looked drawn and tired, but there was something there that I hadn't noticed before, when she'd walked past the kitchen three days ago. Her eyes looked lighter, calmer and her mouth wasn't set as tightly as before.

It was the first time I noticed, really, that this last two weeks had had any effect on her at all. I felt ashamed, knowing the only reason I'd noticed she was hurting was because she had managed to heal herself again.

She said nothing as I approached, only sat on the swinging love seat, a glass of white wine in her hand, her eyes distant. In the growing dusk, the light from the gardens dim torches softened her, smoothed her skin and hair so it was shimmering and ethereal. She looked like a fairy tale princess, sitting there in her plain white dress with a wine glass in her hand.

A modern princess, but someone regal and royal none the less.

"So," I said, sitting in one of the white whicker garden seats across from her. She still hadn't looked at me. "Where's the lucky man?"

Slowly, she looked at me, her eyes focusing slowly. "Why?" she asked, some of her old life creeping back into her. "Want to break us up again?"

I winced. "No."

She glared at me, no longer a soft fairy tale. Her eyes were hard. "Good."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. What the hell had prompted me to come out here? The same thing that had forced me over to Veronicas that first time too, guilt. But it was harder to feel guilt for what I had done to Bethany. We'd always played this game, hurting each other until we both retreated, gathered our energy to start again. It had started with Marc. I hoped it could end, maybe, with Peter and with Michel. Our second chance, I thought, at the love that had driven us both to marc. Only this time, I thought dryly, there were two of them, one for each of us. And no heroin.

"So you think this will work out then?" I asked finally, breaking the tense silence.

She looked at me disbelievingly. "What sort of question is that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I've been thinking about it lately, with Michel."

She snorted. "_Michel_."

I glared at her. "He wants _me_, Bethany." He loves me. And he even loves you, in a really round-about, twisted way. She caught what I implied though, and her eyes narrowed.

"Not for long though. They never stay, do they?" she looked at me, spiteful. "Think I can get him too?"

"Stop it," I snapped, suddenly sick of the game. "You have Peter."

Something in her seemed to lighten, and she pushed her foot idly on the pavers beneath her feet, and the love seat moved back and forth. "Yes," she said finally, taking a sip of her wine. "I have Peter."

We were silent for a time, and the soft, dusky breeze caressed our hair and our skin. I could almost forget who I sat here with. Slowly, I felt myself beginning to relax.

She spoke after a while, and her voice was soft again. "I love him," she said gently, her voice filled a strange wonderment. "I really do." She looked over at me and smiled, her eyes distant again. "And he loves me."

I shifted in my seat again, uncomfortable. This felt surreal. This normal talk. Sister talk. About love, about people loving you.

Her eyes turned sharp again. "Don't ruin this for me Ariana."

Ah, I thought, relaxing. There was the real Bethany. I thought of Anthony's words this morning. The real Bethany. The one we all loved.

I just looked at her. "Don't ruin this for me either."

She stared at me a moment, then nodded her head once.

It was a truce of sort, I thought, as I stood up to leave.

I smiled down at her. "I really hope you're happy," I said, and even though she looked at me with suspicion, I meant it with my whole heart. For once in my life, I meant it.

And then I left the garden, left her to her sparkling wine and her distant thoughts. I could never tell what she was thinking when she looked like that. Perhaps she was thinking about Peter, about her love for him, wondering at it or admiring it. Perhaps she wondered about us, like I did sometimes, and thought about all the reasons we had let men destroy our relationships.

Or maybe she thought about Marc, the first man who had come between us. Vicious, dangerous, irresistible Marc. He would have destroyed us, in the end, whether he had crashed that night or not. If not through his death, through some other means. Some other way. I thought of Bethany's horrible to words to Peter that night. _I'm not saying that the weddings is a mistake. I'm saying that if it weren't for her, it would be Marc standing there reciting his vows, not __you__. _And I shuddered at the prospect.

If it was his ghost that she laid to rest tonight, if it was him she saw when she stared out into the night, then I wished her all the best for it.

Reaching for the hand-rail, I pulled myself up the stairs towards the bedroom Michel and I shared, pulled myself away from Marc and Bethany and Callum, and up towards Michel, towards another magic night, and towards my future, and every magic night that would follow.

XXXX

The End


	48. Epilogue

Weddings are always supposed to be happy, and this one certainly was

Weddings are always supposed to be happy, and this one certainly was. Perhaps more so because of the trauma that every guest had to go through before they could take their place on the pew and watch Bethany and Peter finally seal their vows with a kiss. Every single person in the congregation would have felt that kiss. Maybe they didn't feel lust, or desire, or joy, or not to the extent that Bethany and Peter did. But they most certainly would have felt relief. _Thank god_, they would think, _as the happy couple smooched, thank fucking god that this is finally over_. And they would smile, and that smile was the exact same smile on every single person's face that was there. _Thank god,_ they would think again. _We made it through alive. With minimum damage and not even one casualty_.

But when you watch from above, you see all sorts of different things happening in the crowd as that lucky couple kissed their way to heaven. They might all think the same thing initially, that they had made it through enemy fire and against all odds and ended up in a church, but then, behind their polite smiles, there's a world happening.

Take, for example, Anthony and his brother. Both lovely men. Tall, good-looking, successful. But they could think about when they watched that kiss was that neither of them had anyone in their lives they could stand up on a dais with and declare their undying love. Anthony looked wistfully at Peter, and then at Michel, standing next to his cousin a few pews away. Then, still wistful, he looked around the congregation and was met by disapproving stares by his family, and curious ones by the husband's family. No gay men whatsoever, his smile was saying. Just my luck. But then he would think of Derek shy and young and waiting for him at his home, and his spirits improved a little. So what he probably wasn't a keeper. Atleast he had someone waiting when he got home, someone warm.

And then George, perhaps lonelier than anyone else at the wedding. Lonely because he was calm and controlled and models were life-suckers, hardly real, women of money that only looked at him and saw a man they could deal with for the rest of their life, but not much else. But he didn't want someone to deal with him. He wanted someone who loved him without sense and without reason. Someone who, when he got home at night, got angry that he was late home from work. Not someone who came home even later than he did, and didn't notice if he wasn't there anyway. And then he too, looked over at his cousin and Michel wistfully. One day, he thought, one day I'll have that. Not today. But soon. And then he looked over at another pew, and caught a woman's eye who looked just his type, tall and blonde and cool and collected and successful, and smiled. Well, one day he would have warmth and love, he decided. Tonight he would just have great sex. And he didn't have much of a problem with that after all.

But then if you turn your head a little to the right, you can see the Mother and the Father. The instigators in all of this because they were the ones who'd given birth to the two little monsters in the first place, and then left them alone to fend for themselves. Oblivious parenting, really. But they learned the lesson, and everyone had come through alive, and a little better for it. They wouldn't make the same mistake with their grandchildren, they knew. And as their eldest daughter and her chosen man kissed, they smiled up at each other and thanked god that very soon, neither Bethany nor Ria would be their responsibility any longer.

And then, if you move you're head to the left again, and just a little behind, Callum and Veronica are standing either side of their little girl, Susie, holding each of her hands. Maybe they aren't completely in love yet, but they will be one day. And when Callum cheats again, Veronica will forgive him again because she knows that its her he loves, and he really cant help it. And Susie will grow up knowing this, and hating it, but as long as her parents are content she doesn't really mind so much. But one day, when one of her boyfriends cheats on her, she will beat him senseless and be arrested for assault. The man who bails her out, she doesn't know now, will grow out of the little boy that's standing right near her, looking at her with earnest eyes. And he will never, ever cheat on her.

And then finally, you will come to Michel and Ria, our hero and heroine. One day, they might look back on this and laugh, but right now, as they stare up into each others eyes, laughing is the furthest thing from their minds. Eventually though, their love will tamper down, and settle into the deep, deep kind of love that lingers forever and doesn't really end with death. One day in the future there might be kids, a new house, and when the kids are grown up they might move back to London and enjoy the country-side in their old age. Ria and Bethany might never get alone, but they'll talk again eventually, and maybe they'll manage a conversation that's civil once in a while, but their story isn't a fairytale. Sometimes hurt goes a little too deep for it to be repaired. Michel knows that. And he loves her, scars and all. And, when they finally pass away from this world, they'll lie beside each other in their bed and hold the other tightly, and hope that there's something after life, and after death, and hope that wherever and whatever it is, they might meet there. And Ria will look for the last time into Michel's eyes, and like the very first time they held each other truly, she'll see stars in his eyes and the sunlight in his face. And he'll look at her, closely, deeply, smiling that dark smile that can always make her pulse deep faster, and whisper that he loves her. Now and forever. And when their children visit their graves, maybe there's not much special about their parents. Maybe they didn't save the world, or live in a mansion, or make laws to better man-kind. But they loved each other, and they loved their children, and there was really nothing else they had to do. And their youngest daughter, Bethany, will remember the time she asked her father how he knew that Ria was the one, and she'll remember what his answer is now, as she traces his name on the gravestone. "True love," he had laughed. "We never stood a chance."

The End.


	49. Authors Note

Wow

Wow. I cant believe its over. I can't say I'm not thankful. I am. I just wanted to finish that so I could write something else. There's a lot in this story I'm not happy with. I want to improve my writing, and hopefully I achieved that in part. I definitely prefer the later chapters to the first few. I think, like most of you probably will, that it may have ended suddenly. Hopefully that's only because I drew the last few chapters out so damn long. But the story is fast paced, and well, there was just nothing else I wanted to put in.

I just want to say thankyou to everyone, EVERYONE for reading my story and supporting me and reviewing etc etc, hopefully you will check out other of my works. Not the ones up there currently, but new ones, ones I want to write and try and improve my writing. I have a few ideas, but I find it hard to keep myself interested. I think I'll miss Ria a lot. And Bethany. Michel, yes, definitely haha. He's my ideal man. Stars in his eyes and all (sorry for how mushy that all was!)

Anyway

Ciao folks,

Happy reading

Thanks again to everyone, especially my beta reader, so much patience!

Ness


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